Days and Knights
by kbrand5333
Summary: My ficlets for the recent LJ Arwen fic battle. Various topics/time periods/ratings. Enjoy!
1. The Bargain

**Prompt: When Mordred takes Gwen prisoner she ends up becoming something across between an ****_Advisor,_**** a ****_Therapist _****and ****_Personal Assistant_****...but at least she doesn't have to do the laundry.**

"Gwen! Gwen!"

_What now?_ Gwen sighs and gets up from the desk where she was currently reconciling Mordred's checking account for him. _He kidnaps me and suddenly I'm his housekeeper. Something is wrong with this boy._

"Yes?" she says, leaning on the doorway.

"I've got a sliver."

"How on earth did you get a sliver?"

"This stupid table. It's all… jagged."

"Let me see," she sighs, coming over and taking his hand in hers. "You know, you really are the worst kidnapper ever."

"He hasn't found you yet," he reminds her.

"He will," she assures him calmly. "I need some tweezers."

"There's a first aid kit in the kitchen," he says.

She releases his hand and walks through the house. _If it wasn't a fortress, if I wasn't trapped here, this would really be lovely. A little romantic getaway for Arthur and me, even. It's beautiful here. Only problem is, I don't know exactly where "here" is._

She returns a few minutes later, tweezers in hand. She holds her hand out for Mordred and he gives her his wounded palm.

He flinches and says "Ow" before she even touches him.

"Honestly, Mordred, I haven't even touched you yet. Here," she takes his hand and turns, holding his arm beneath hers, so his hand is sticking out in front of her from beneath her armpit, her body between them.

"I can't see now!" he protests.

"That's the point," she says. She quickly removes the splinter from his hand and releases him.

"You didn't do anything!"

"Look at your hand, genius."

He does. "Oh. Thanks."

"Do you need a bandage?" she asks rather condescendingly, as if she is talking to a child.

"No, I think I'll be fine."

"I'm almost done with your accounts. Why have you kidnapped me, anyway? You've got tons of money."

"It's not about money."

"Of course not."

"He always got everything he wanted."

"Of course, the forgotten stepchild."

"You're mocking me." His face is stony.

"I am not," she says. "Remember, I came from nothing, too."

"I know," his voice is small.

"Then why?"

"You're the only thing he really cares about. His money, his power, they don't matter to him. He would hand them over without a thought if it meant having you back."

"Is that what you want? His money, his empire?"

"I thought I did. Now, I'm not sure."

"You can't have me," she says decisively, folding her hands over her chest.

He angles his head at her, almost as if the thought never occurred to him. "You're not my type."

"Mordred, call him. Tell him where we are."

"No."

"God, you're just as stubborn as he is!"

"I'm nothing like him!"

"You're exactly like him! No wonder you don't get along!"

"You know what? I don't want to listen to this anymore. Go finish balancing my checkbook."

"Call Arthur. We won't press charges."

"I am not…" he trails off, looking up at the ceiling sharply. It is just then that Gwen hears the distinct sounds of helicopter blades.

Gwen runs to the window, and see the distinctive red and gold of the Pendragon Corporation's company helicopter.

She turns to Mordred. "You're too l…"

Mordred is gone.


	2. They Attract

**Arthur/Guinevere and opposites.**

He is pulling at her blouse now, hands impatient, nearly tearing the delicate garment in his need to remove it from her body.

Her nimble fingers make quick work of his buttons, opening them all before she lifts her arms over her head to allow him to remove her shirt. She returns her hands to his body, sliding them inside against his bare chest.

His lips crash against hers, hot, needy, wanting, and his tongue is insistent and hungry. His hands slide on the cool soft skin of her back, her stomach, before one creeps up and closes over a satin-clad breast.

"Arthur," she breathes his name against his lips, tearing them away for a moment, moving to draw his earlobe into her mouth, sucking, biting. "How did we get here?" she gasps.

His hands have found the clasp of her bra now. "Fuck," he curses appreciatively as the garment falls from her shoulders. "What?" he asks, his eyes lifting to hers for a moment before they are drawn back to the perfect copper mounds he has just uncovered.

"You called me an asshole," he says, dropping his head to kiss her breasts, his lips pulled like magnets to her soft skin. "Because I threw a mug at… Merlin."

"Right," she gasps, her head falling back as her torso arches beneath him. Her jean-clad leg comes up and winds around his hip, pulling him closer.

"He did just spill my coffee on me," Arthur adds, moving from one breast to the other, sucking her taut nipple in between his lips, rolling his tongue around the stiff peak, tugging just hard enough.

"Oh!" she cries out, her fingers digging into his scalp. "It was… an accident, you know. You're always so mean to him… oh, do that again…"

Arthur does it again, or at least does what he thinks she's referring to. She cries out and he figures he must have done the right thing. His hands trail down to the button on her jeans now, popping it open, easing the zipper down.

"I'm not mean to him," Arthur protests, finding it difficult to think anymore when he peels her jeans down and off to discover a very scant pair of black panties looking him in the face. "Um…"

"Yes, you are," she says, shucking his shirt from his shoulders now and starting on his belt. "I don't know why he puts up with it."

His trousers drop to the floor and he climbs over her now. "We are just too different to get along, you and me," he purrs, his words the strangest seduction ever.

Gwen grabs his head and pulls his lips to hers, sucking his lower lip like it's candy. "Don't talk; it ruins it when words come out of this mouth."

To her surprise, Arthur throws his head back and laughs at this, eyes twinkling at her momentarily before darkening with desire again. He smirks and tugs her panties off, sliding them down her long legs. Then his own boxers fall and he kisses his way back up again.

He ponders her a moment, then touches her, there, at the place that is aching for him. She tilts her hips to meet his fingers, moaning.

"Arthur," she moans his name now, her knees falling wide for him.

"God, Guinevere…" he gasps in response. Unable to wait any longer, he plunges into her with a deep groan. Almost a growl.

"Mmm…" she coos as he fills her, connecting their bodies in a way that their minds never have been able to do.

"Oh," he grunts, bending to trail kisses all over her neck and shoulders.

"This… doesn't change anything…" she gasps, "We still… oh, yes… have nothing in common…"

"Of course not," he mutters, sucking at her skin with large, greedy, open-mouthed kisses. He lifts his head and kisses her nose. "Star Trek."

"Star Wars," she counters, knowing his game immediately.

"Oranges."

"Apples."

"Bugs Bunny."

Gwen giggles. "Mickey Mouse… oh, right there…"

"Red," he continues.

"Purple."

"Italian… oh, God… food." Gwen's fingers are like magic on his skin, her body so warm and pliant beneath his.

"Chinese."

"Benny Hill."

"Monty Python," she groans, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and pulling his head to her breasts.

"Comedy," he says, biting a nipple lightly.

"Horrorrrrrrrrrrrroooohhhhh…"

Gwen is writhing beneath him, trembling, her legs clamping around him as she climaxes, her hands leaving his hair to wrap around his shoulders, nearly smothering him in her breasts.

"Mmmphh…" he worms his head out just as his own release comes, leaving him spent, his feet twitching as the sensations die down.

He rolls them so she is lying on top of him now.

"Chocolate," he says, tucking her hair behind her ears with both hands. He kisses her lips sweetly.

"Vanilla," she says, smirking at him. She nips his lower lip lightly, then kisses him deeply.

"At least we found one thing we have in common."


	3. Preferences

**Arthur and Gwen try to fix up Leon with ?**

"Princess Elena?" Arthur suggests.

"Nah," Leon shrugs, idly picking his fingernails with a dagger.

"Lady Margolotta?" Gwen tries. "She's new in Camelot, you could show her ar…"

"No. Have you heard her laugh? It's like a goat."

"Princess Mithian, then. She likes hunting; the two of you would have something to talk about, at least."

"Sire, I'll thank you to please stop pushing your past on me," Leon sighs. Gwen giggles.

"I think he just feels bad for tossing them over in favor of a maidservant," Gwen says.

"Well, the 'maidservant' part is actually irrelevant, but yes, I do feel a bit guilty that it's been five years since you and I have married and they are both yet single."

"You couldn't have married them both, Arthur."

Leon relaxes, their focus drawn away from him momentarily.

"Well, then, this is a new Camelot. Any maids catch your fancy? Farmers' daughters in the lower town, perhaps?" Gwen tries.

Leon sighs now, sheathing his dagger. He sits up straighter and flips his hair once out of his eyes. "Stop, please. I appreciate your help, but…"

"We just want to see you happy, Leon," Gwen says gently while Arthur pouts.

"I could order you, you know," he grumbles.

"But you wouldn't," Gwen interjects. "You're right, Leon, we shouldn't push. One cannot force love. Can't force it away, either," She says, smiling at Arthur. "And often it appears at the most unexpected times."

"Thank you, my lady. I assure you, I am quite content with my life as it is," Leon says.

Just then there is a knock at the door of the royal chambers.

"Come," Arthur calls. The door opens and Elyan pops his head in.

"Ah, Sir Elyan, what news do you have for us?" Arthur asks.

"Um, Queen Annis' party is approaching. She'll be here within the hour," he says.

Gwen notices her brother looks a little nervous. Not nervous, excited? Anxious? "Elyan, are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine, thanks. Just a bit… um, tired, I guess."

"Up all night at the tavern again?" Arthur asks jokingly.

"Something like that," he mutters.

"Well, see if you can get some rest before this afternoon's training. Queen Annis will be wanting a demonstration," Arthur says.

"Yes, Sire," Elyan turns to leave, and as he does, Gwen sees his eyes meet Leon's. There is a beat, and time seems to stop for a moment. Then Elyan clears his throat and ducks from the room.

Gwen lifts her goblet to her lips and watches Leon. He's blushing.

Well, that certainly explains a few things, she thinks.


	4. The Brother He Didn't Want to Be

**Post-Camlann. Leon is interested. Gwen is not.**

"Don't do it, Leon," Gwaine warned him, looking sternly at the taller man.

"I have to," Leon says. "Either I tell her, or I leave Camelot."

"You may have to do both, mate," Gwaine mutters as Sir Leon gets up and strides from the knights' quarters.

Hoping it's not too late, Leon knocks softly on Gwen's door.

"Come in," her voice calls from the other side of the doors.

"Am I disturbing you?" Leon asks, entering and standing just inside the doors. She is over by the window, at the desk near the bed.

"Not at all," she calls. "Come over here, please, Leon, I don't want to shout at you."

"Yes, my lady," he answers. He swallowed hard and walks over towards her, studiously not looking at the large, opulent, four-poster bed.

"What can I do for you, Sir Leon?" she asks, setting her quill down.

"Well, um… I have something I'd like to tell you…"

"Oh?"

"It's of a… delicate, um, personal nature, and…"

"Is this something you should be talking to Gaius about?"

"What? No! No, sorry…"

"Oh. Sorry. I won't interrupt again."

"Thank you. Um, well, my lady, it has been… five years since the king's death, and… well… to be honest, I have always thought of you rather fondly, and…"

"I'm sorry, I lied, I am going to interrupt you," Gwen says, holding her hand up. She looks up into Sir Leon's face. Familiar, sweet, honest, true. Loyal. But… no. Just, no.

Honestly, Gwen has suspected this for some time. They grew up together, and he was always kinder to her than other nobles were to their family's servants. If she hadn't been enchanted by Morgana at the time, his words to her that night while they kept vigil over Arthur's poisoned body would have given her pause indeed.

Since Arthur's death, Leon has been indispensable to Camelot, always at her side, always looking out for her and her well-being.

There was even the occasional whisper in the court about them. But Gwen had never had feelings of that sort for Leon. "I am sorry, Sir Leon."

That was all she needed to say. His dear face falls for just a moment, but then he recovers his features and nods slowly. "I understand, my lady."

"Perhaps in another lifetime, I could have looked upon you as favorably as you do me," she says.

"But not in this one," he says.

"No, I'm sorry. You are dear to me, you know that…"

"I know. Please don't say it. I don't wish to hear that I'm like a brother to you."

"Very well," she nods, and Leon knows that she was indeed going to utter those words.

"I'll… just be retiring for the night, then, my lady," Leon says, nodding respectfully to his queen before turning to leave.

"Leon," she calls, "If I see a transfer request on my desk with your name on it, I will not approve it. Just so you know."

He stops. _How does she do that?_ "Yes, my lady," he sighs. He takes two more steps, pauses, and turns his head slightly. "And thank you."

"Thank _you,_ Leon. For all that you've done."

Once the door is closed, Gwen sighs heavily and decides she is done working. She tosses a few more logs on the fire. She doesn't want to see anyone now, so she doesn't call for her maid, choosing to turn down her bed and change into her nightdress herself.

She goes to her wardrobe and her hand hesitates on its way to where her dress is hanging. It moves to the left, over, over, all the way to the far side of the wardrobe, poking her hand inside until she feels it.

White linen. His shirt. The shirt.

She used to sleep in it every night after he died. After six months she decided it was probably healthier for her mental state to stop wearing it every night. But she kept it. She wears it occasionally, when she misses him. His birthday. Their anniversary. The anniversary of his death.

Tonight.


	5. Practice Makes Perfect

**It's their wedding night and both Arthur and Gwen are nervous as they assume both of them are not virgins**

Is this was a Quentin Tarantino movie, they would be standing there with guns in their hands, pointing, standing, staring, waiting. Waiting to see who would shoot first.

Never in a million years did Gwen think that she would be in a Mexican standoff on her wedding night.

They stand there, Arthur's shirt unbuttoned, hanging open, half-untucked. Gwen's dress is hanging off one shoulder, unzipped, staying up by sheer willpower.

"You mean you haven't…?" Arthur finally speaks.

"No."

"Not Lancelot?"

"Why do you think he broke up with me?"

"I haven't, either."

"What?"

"Don't make me repeat that, please…"

"But, Vivian…"

"Was a cock-tease. Plus, I was only going out with her because I thought I should. I don't know if I would have even if…"

"Oh."

"Why do you think I was so willing to wait till we were married?"

"I thought it was because you loved me," she says, but there is no ire in her voice.

"Well, I do, very much. But also I was… a little embarrassed that I hadn't, and I thought you had…" he takes one step closer, then stops.

Suddenly Gwen starts giggling.

"Well, I'm glad you find this so amusing," he says, but the corners of his mouth are pulling upwards now themselves.

"I guess we have nothing to be nervous about then, do we? Neither of us knows anything at all!"

"Mmm, you're right," he rumbles, prowling closer to her now. "And I feel like learning something…"

Clothing falls to the floor. One shoe hits the dresser, narrowly missing the television.

"Good thing I missed. The hotel would have made us pay for that if we'd broken it."

"Come over here, Arthur."

"What? Oh…"

"Mmm…"

"Wait, how does this…?"

"Oof!"

"I don't think…"

"Oh, my…"

"Guinevere!"

Giggles give way to soft sighs.

A sharp gasp as he breaks through. Then soft whispers, soothing words spoken in her ear.

The squeak of bedsprings, contented murmurings, the occasional grunt.

All too soon, it is over.

"Sorry," his muffled voice as he hides his face in her neck, burying himself in her hair.

"Don't be," Gwen soothes, threading her fingers through his hair. "It was wonderful."

"Not wonderful enough, not for you."

She kisses his ear. "Are you going to keep apologizing or are you going to get back on the horse?"

He lifts his head. "You're not a horse."

"Thank you for noticing."

"You're not upset?"

"No, I'm not upset. A little… pent up, if I am being honest, but upset? No."

"Pent up, you say? Well, we'll have to do something about that. In a few minutes…"

A few minutes and some washing up later, and they are back in the bed on the probably-ruined sheets.

Taking their time this time.

It's much better the second time. Especially for Gwen.

The third time, they get it right. Because practice makes perfect.


	6. Bacon

**Cravings**

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

The checker at the supermarket looks at Arthur, raising her eyebrow questioningly.

_Beep._

"Someone likes bacon," she comments, putting the packs and packs of bacon in the bag.

_Beep._

And a bottle of orange Gatorade.

"My wife is pregnant," he says, hoping that it is an adequate explanation.

The checker smiles. "When I was pregnant a hundred years ago, I had to have pineapple," she says, handing him his change and his bag. "Good luck, young man."

"Thanks," he says, and hurries out the door.

_Problem with bacon is that you have to cook it. You can't just unwrap it and go. You have to unwrap it, peel those blasted layers apart and COOK the damn things._

_And she likes it crispy. Nearly burnt. This baby is going to come out with a curly tail._

He looks down at his arms, at the little red spots from the grease burns he's received from the sizzling, popping meat in the pan.

_I wonder if you can microwave this stuff?_

Bacon sandwiches, bacon crumbled on salad, bacon as a side dish with dinner. Bacon crumbled over ice cream. Dipped in maple syrup. Dipped in chocolate sauce. Dipped in peanut butter.

_And now I have little pieces of bacon shrapnel in my peanut butter._

"Guinevere?" he calls, walking in the front door. No answer. He pads to the living room. She's sleeping on the sofa, on her side, a large fleece blanket tucked up to her chin, her face soft and pouting slightly while she sleeps.

Arthur loves her pouty sleep-face. He secretly hopes the baby will be a girl so he can have two of them to look at. He bends and very gently kisses Gwen's forehead. She mumbles something, but stays asleep.

Somehow her sweet face makes the ridiculous cravings bearable. He wanders off to the kitchen to fry up five pounds of bacon for his Guinevere.


	7. In Control

**After Gwen is freed from the enchantment - Arthur realizes that he has a hard time returning to their previous sexual encounters, when he had so much fun with the 'evil Gwen' in the bedroom and he feels guilty/shamed that he didn't realize that it wasn't her all along.**

"You're sure?" Arthur asks, sitting beside her on their bed. It's been two weeks since Guinevere returned to herself, and just over two weeks since they've done something other than sleep in their bed.

Gwen nods. "I'm sure. I want this, Arthur."

_My Guinevere, so sweet. I'm going to miss the passionate vixen that she was when…_

_Wait, WHAT?_

"Arthur?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you all right? You look pale."

"Oh, I'm fine. More than fine," he says, crawling over towards her on the bed, dropping himself carefully over her, kissing her lips once, twice, before resting his head on her chest.

_Does she remember any of it? Any of the… things… we did?_

"Arthur, is something distracting you?" she asks. "What is troubling you, my love?" She runs her fingers through his hair.

"I'm just worried for you," he says. It's near enough to the truth. "The last time… _times_ we did this you were under Morgana's enchantment."

"And I am sorry for that," she says. "I feel terrible that she made me feel like I didn't love you."

"Guinevere," he sighs, "it was not your fault. If anyone should be apologizing, it should be me." He turns his head against her chest, hiding his face.

"Whatever for?"

"For not realizing you were not yourself," he admits.

"Morgana is very smart, Arthur, I am sure that she was very careful about that."

"How much do you remember?"

"Arthur, I don't really want to talk about this right now. I don't really want to talk about _anything_ right now," she says pointedly.

"I know. But…"

"But something is troubling you about the two of us during that time."

She feels him nod against her. "I should have known something was wrong. Well, different. You were different."

"I was?"

"That's kind of why I need to know how much you remember."

"Not much. Flashes. Somehow I don't think I want to know exactly what happened. How was I different?"

"You were much… bolder… in our marriage bed."

"Bolder?"

He nods again.

"What did I do?" she whispers.

"You really want me to tell you?" he lifts his head now.

"I don't know. I'm trying to understand why you're upset."

"Because I was too busy enjoying myself that I didn't realize that you weren't YOU!" he groans, finally spitting it out. "It was really, _really_ good, and now I feel really, _really_ bad!" He flops on his back, away from her.

Gwen's mind is reeling. _What did I do?_ "Do you want me to be… bolder… in bed?" she asks quietly.

"Guinevere, I want you to be however _you_ want to be." He reaches over and takes her hand.

Gwen is quiet. She is contemplating her next words, her next actions. Steeling her nerve, she rolls over to Arthur and leans up to kiss his neck.

"I've often… thought about being a bit… braver. More forward."

Arthur's eyes grow wide. "You have?"

She blushes and nods.

"Why didn't you?"

"Well, you're the king. You're the man in charge, so I thought you might not like…"

"Guinevere," he says, pulling her over him so she is sitting on him, straddling his stomach. He shoves his hands under her nightdress, sliding his palms on her thighs. "I have to be the one in control all the time. It gets very… tiresome. There are times…" his hands move higher, "times where I would _love_ to give up control. To have someone else tell me what to do." His hands snake around and come to rest on her backside, caressing the skin there, squeezing lightly.

"Really?" her voice is almost a squeak. His hands are reducing her ability to think. Her hands come to rest on his bare chest, tracing small patterns in his chest hair.

"Mmm-hmm," he nods. "That enchantment, amid the other things it did, must have lowered your inhibitions. It would have had to have, come to think of it… kind of like being drunk, in a way…"

"I can't say I've ever been drunk," Gwen says. She lifts her arms now as Arthur is pulling her nightdress up and up, finally lifting it over her head.

"Really?" now it is his turn to ask.

"Never happened," she shrugs, and his eyes immediately drop to her breasts, watching their slight bounce.

"Do you want me to tell you?" he asks, his hands now covering her breasts.

"No," Gwen whispers, "I'd rather not be clouded by what… False Me did."

"Fair enough," he says with a nod and a gentle squeeze.

She scoots back, lower, down his legs, and proceeds to remove his trousers. On her way back up, she makes a detour.

"_Guin_evere!"


	8. The Coming of Arthur, Part 3

**Arthur fucks Gwen wearing full armour**

He comes bursting through the doors to their chamber, dirty, bloodied, tired. Ragged. His chainmail is battered and rent, his tunic surely torn beneath it. His armor is dirty and dented, and there is mud on his boots. His prized sword hangs from his gloved hand.

She gasps, tears immediately erupting from her eyes as she rushes to him, leaping into his arms, caring not one bit if she soils her beautiful burgundy gown. It could be ruined beyond repair, and she wouldn't care one bit.

He is home. They said he was near death, that he was struck by an almost-assuredly-fatal blow.

But he is home.

Her husband is home.

He crushes her to him, dropping his sword to the floor with a clatter as his arms wrap around her, groping, grasping. Making sure she is real.

His lips are on hers now, crushing, forceful. She gives back in kind, full of just as much need.

A sweet reunion full of whispered words and soft, gentle caresses will come later.

He backs her up against the door. She barely notices the hard wood when her back hits it. Her hands clutch his face, they rake through his hair, they slide on the metal plates of armor at his shoulder.

Her hands drop down, purposefully pushing past the chainmail, under it, searching for the ties holding his trousers together.

He merely grunts his approval, gathering her heavy skirts up, searching for the treasure beneath while his lips reacquaint themselves with the skin of her neck, her breasts.

Freed, he hoists her into his arms and she clings to his neck, wrapping her legs around his waist as he plunges into her with no preamble whatsoever, encasing his shaft in her soaking wet sheath.

He groans, low and long; she cries out with desire as he fills her, again and again he fills her, hard and urgent. Needful. Desperate.

If they could climb completely inside one another, they would.

He drills her against the door, occasionally banging into it, causing the wood to creak in protest. People pass in the corridor and pretend not to hear the rhythmic creaking of the doors or the passionate cries of their queen.

He scoops his arms under her knees, his fingers clutching the fabric of her bunched-up skirts behind her, and leans into her, pounding harder still.

Veins bulge on the side of his neck with the effort. She kisses them. She absorbs his passion and returns it, not even noticing the bite of the chainmail behind her knees, the hard edge of the armor as it scrapes her collarbone.

She rides him and rides with him, as lost in him as he is in her, and they both climb to the pinnacle together, soaring, floating, finally exploding in a shower of sparks.

Together, they slowly sink to the floor, wrapped in each others' arms, forehead to forehead. Breathing. Kissing. Weeping. Holding.

He is home.


	9. Just an Accident

**Gwen likes to leave Arthur with bites, scratches and bruises after sex; Arthur has to explain his "injuries" to someone like Elyan**

"Where'd you get those scratches, my lord? They look pretty deep." Sir Elyan peers at the back of King Arthur's neck just as he is about to sit beside him by the fire.

"Hmm?" Arthur tries to act casual, lifting his hand to feel the three marks at the spot where his neck meets his shoulder.

_"Oh… oh God… oh Arthur…"_

"Those scratches. You almost look like you were attacked by an animal," he says leaning over and looking closer.

Across the fire, Gwaine chokes on the water he is drinking. Arthur glares at him. Gwaine winks in reply.

"Oh, no, it was… just an accident," Arthur says, waving his hand dismissively.

"Are you sure about that? That's a pretty difficult spot to accidentally scratch… three times…"

"Elyan," Gwaine says casually, "you might want to let it go, mate."

"What?" He glances at Arthur, who is studying the fire, appearing to be almost stubbornly lost in thought.

_"Oh… ohhhhh… oh, mmm…" her teeth sink into his shoulder as she climaxes, straddling him like he is her prized stallion._

"Wait…" light begins to dawn, but it quickly becomes clear that Sir Elyan of Camelot does not want those particular images of his king and queen (who is also his sister) to be illuminated. "Um, yes. An accident, surely," he declares and quickly takes a bite of his stew.

"Well, I know _my_ already-high opinion of the queen has definitely gone up a notch," Gwaine mutters.

"Shut it, Gwaine," Percival warns quietly.

"What? All I'm saying is that Arthur is a lucky man… Ow!" Gwaine yelps as what appears to be a raw potato connects with his forehead.

"I did warn you," Percival chuckles, resuming his dinner.

"Oi! Where'd you get that potato?" Gwaine demands, looking at Arthur, bewildered. Arthur simply glances in Elyan's direction. Elyan, who happens to be sitting beside Merlin's pack of meal supplies.

"Just an accident," Elyan shrugs.


	10. 60 Years

**She ****_looked_**** like a sweet, little old lady...**

It has been 60 years since the Battle of Camlann. 60 years since Guinevere found herself the lone queen of Camelot, in control of a kingdom in which she was born a peasant.

60 years is a very long time. She has watched Camelot change and grow. Gaius has long since died. The last two men that she thought of as "her" knights, Leon and Percival, are gone. Leon to illness and Percival to old age, dying peacefully in his sleep just two years ago. Merlin, gone. Never returned from Camlann either, yet no one knows if he yet lives.

Yet Guinevere remains, if for only the two things Arthur left her: Camelot and a rather unexpected child.

She stepped down from the throne on her 70th birthday, passing the royal seal officially to her dear Llacheu. Llacheu has done both his mother and his father proud in every way.

Gwen, the dowager queen, spends much of her time now in the gardens or doing needlework in her quarters, lately awaiting the imminent arrival of her first great-grandchild. She is still widely respected and many yet seek her counsel over that of the king.

87 years is a long time to live. 60 years is long time to live without your one true love.

Today she sits in the throne room, beside and a little behind King Llacheu and Queen Susana as they hold court and grant audiences.

The doors open in the back of the room and an old man strides in, his hair and beard long and white, dressed in dark robes. He strides forward on long legs, remarkably spry for one so ancient.

Guards hurry after the man, trying to stay him, trying to stop him from approaching their sovereigns.

But the old man's eyes are fixed on Lady Guinevere as he strides forward.

She watches him. He is familiar. His eyes… such a deep, bright blue. The prominent cheekbones, the tall lean stature…

She stands and steps forward, and he notes that she seems to have gotten even smaller as she's aged, her curls now a white tumble down her back rather than the rich mahogany he remembers.

"Mother?" Llacheu says. She waves him off, walking to meet this strange…

…old friend.

Gwen and Merlin stand, face to face, for the first time in 60 years. She looks up at him, her face impassive, he looks down at her, his face expectant. Apologetic.

Then she balls her small, knobby hand into a fist, rears back, and punches him hard in the stomach.

Merlin doubles over, and as the guards step forward, she holds her hand up, stopping them. Then she places a gentle hand on her friend's shoulder.

"I suppose I deserved that…" he croaks once he can breathe again. He stands up again, and Gwen pulls him into a tight hug.

He holds her, feels her breath hitch, and realizes that there are tears rolling down his own face, soaking into his beard.

She leans back, releasing him. "60 years, Merlin? _60 bloody years_ before you decide to come back?"

"I'm sorry, Gwen…" he says, reaching up to wipe the tears from her still-beautiful face, which is still surprisingly smooth, with just a few wrinkles. "You look amazing… I would never guess that you were…"

"Do not try flattering me, Merlin. And you look awful. Why are you here?" she demands.

"I can't discuss it here," he says.

Hours later, Guinevere, the queen who brought Camelot to glory, who united the lands of Albion, settles in for the night. She sighs, thinking of her son, her four grandchildren, and the tiny babe that she now knows she'll never have the joy of holding in her arms.

_"A girl, born two days hence. They will name her Guinevere, after you."_

Thinking of her Arthur.

_"It's time, Gwen," Merlin had told her. "I saw in the crystals that I needed to come to you on this night."_

She huddles into the blankets, reaches over to Arthur's pillow like she does every night, places her hand in the center of it, and whispers, "Goodnight, Arthur." Like she does every night.

"I'll see you very soon."

Gwen closes her eyes and lets herself drift off to sleep, strangely content, despite knowing that she will not wake up the next morning.

Her heart will stop beating in the middle of the night while she slumbers.

Everywhere it is white. And gold. And green. The colors of all things new. Gwen looks down at her hands. They are young and smooth. She lifts a lock of hair. Brown, not white. She touches her cheeks. Firm, smooth and plump. Her waist is slender, her hips rounded, her breasts firm.

"Guinevere."

That voice. _His_ voice behind her. It beckons and she turns.

The look on his face is worth the wait, worth dying to see again.

"Hello, Arthur," she says, and her voice is that of her young self. "I've missed you."

"And I, you," he answers, holding his hand out to her.

"Come."

**A/N: Yeah, so this one turned in a direction that even I didn't expect…**


	11. The Hoodie of Destiny

**Guinevere steals something of Arthur's**

"Aha!" Arthur cries triumphantly, stomping forward, finger pointed in Gwen's direction. "You've got it! I have been looking everywhere for that!"

"What is he raving about?" Merlin asks Gwen. "He's making a spectacle of himself."

"Since when is that new?" Gwen answers calmly. "He's a walking spectacle."

Merlin laughs as the stormy-faced Arthur reaches down and snatches his favorite navy blue hoodie from its current resting place on the back of Gwen's chair in the coffee shop where she and Merlin were enjoying a quiet drink together.

Were.

"You're taking it back?" Gwen asks, frowning up at him.

"You stole it!" he blusters, digging into the pockets, pulling out an elastic hair tie and, to his horror, a tissue. "Yeesh," he exclaims, shuddering, dropping the tissue on the table between Gwen and Merlin, landing on top of Merlin's closed laptop.

Gwen sighs and grabs it, sticking it in her jeans pocket.

"You left it in our apartment after you got drunk and decided to go swimming in the fountain in the quad with Gwaine. I merely made sure it went to a good home after you abandoned it."

"Sit down, Cabbage Head. I'll get you some cocoa," Merlin offers, knowing Arthur's weakness. Arthur sits and Merlin stands, heading back to the counter.

"It's my favorite hoodie," he mumbles, playing with the hair tie that he hasn't given back to Gwen yet.

"It is quite cozy, yes," Gwen says, watching his long, strong fingers flex and bend, stretching the hair tie and releasing it, winding it around his fingers. "But you live in those bloody things, so I didn't figure you'd miss one…"

"Like I said: favorite one."

"Apparently so."

"It's much too big for you, I'm sure."

"That's why it's so cozy."

Suddenly the image of Gwen bundled in his favorite sweatshirt plays through his brain, and he decides it's not a bad image at all.

"It smells like you," she says quietly, taking a sip of her tea.

"Hmm?"

"Your hoodie. It… it smells like you."

"Well, of course, that's because it's _mine._"

She giggles now. "You're like a little boy," she says, but as she looks at him she realizes that there is nothing at all like a little boy about him. Not physically, anyway.

"Do you really like it that much?" he asks quietly.

She looks up at him through her lashes, bites her lower lip, and nods. "I like that it smells like you," she admits softly.

"Do you?" he says, inching his chair closer now.

She nods again, and when her hand comes to rest on his knee, he inadvertently shoots the hair tie across the coffee shop. It hits the window and lands limply on an empty table.

Gwen giggles again, and Arthur reaches up and tucks a curl behind her ear, his fingers lingering a moment, his thumb caressing her cheek.

"Guinevere…" he whispers her name, his voice full of wonder as they uncover the mutual attraction that has been simmering below the surface since they met the previous fall.

He leans forward and kisses her, tasting the tea she's been drinking on her lips, his hand still dallying at her cheek, now just holding lightly while they slowly savor this moment, the first kiss.

Gwen squeezes his leg, mostly to stop herself from climbing into his lap. Also to keep herself upright, as it seems all the bones have evaporated from her body.

"About bloody time," Merlin declares, setting Arthur's cocoa down in front of him. "I didn't think you two would ever figure it out." He plunks down in his chair, grinning at them as he hands the hair tie he retrieved to Gwen.

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur says.

"You're welcome," Merlin rolls his eyes.

"Oh, right. Thanks for the cocoa. I see you got it to go."

"Yeah, well, I saw how things were going, and…" he lets the rest of the sentence fall, since Gwen and Arthur are already standing and Gwen is gathering her things.

"You done with classes for the day?" Arthur asks, holding the hoodie out for her.

"Yes. You?" she answers, slipping her arms into the sleeves and turning back to face him. He reaches down and zips her up, smiling at her.

"You do look really cute in it, I have to admit," he says. "And yes, I'm done. I am all yours."

"Good," she says. "Because I have a few things I want to do to – I mean, with you."

Merlin's eyes grow wide and he is very glad that he wasn't drinking anything right then, because it surely would have sprayed everywhere.

"What?" is all that Arthur can manage. Gwen leans up and kisses him again.

"I think you heard me just fine," she whispers, then pulls him from the coffee shop.


	12. Make Me a Match

**Helios/Morgana like each other, Arwen plays matchmaker.**

"Your sister has the hots for my new neighbor," Gwen tells Arthur, giggling over the phone.

"Is that so?" Arthur asks, sounding none to thrilled about the prospect.

"Oh, come off it, Arthur. I know she's your sister, but she's a grown woman."

"I know," he sighs.

"And you seem to conveniently forget that I have a brother who might be less than thrilled by some of the things you've done to me," she teases.

"Things _I've_ done to _you_? You're always a very willing participant in all these _things,_ my love. And besides, _I_ wasn't the one that tied _you_ to the bedposts and…"

"Okay, shut up," she says, giggling furiously. "I am at work, you know."

"So am I," he replies smoothly. "So tell me about this 'neighbor' of yours."

"He's pretty hot, for one."

"Great." He sounds less than thrilled.

"I can look, cool it. Tall, muscular. Bald."

"Bald?"

"By choice. He's not an old guy. He's our age. I think he's a doctor, actually."

"Oh?"

"So _now_ he's impressed?" Gwen teases.

"Shut it, you. What makes you think he's a doctor?"

"Because when I see him leaving or coming home he is usually wearing a plastic badge that says 'Dr. Helios Monroe.'"

"Ah. And how did Morgana meet this 'Dr.' Helios?"

"Well, she didn't, not officially. She came over last Saturday to pick me up for girls' night with Freya and Elena, and she saw him in the hall. Practically tackled me for information when I opened the door!"

"Mmm, I have a very clear picture of that in my mind, yes."

"So we need to set them up."

"We do? Why?"

"Arthur, you want her to have a boyfriend so she gives us more time alone."

"Right. Good point. She keeps horning in on my time with you. Like last Saturday."

"Last Saturday you went go-karting with the boys!"

"Only because they made me."

"Right," she rolls her eyes. "So here's what I'm thinking…"

xXx

World Cup party, Gwen's apartment. They were careful with the invitations. Merlin and Freya, Percy and Elena, Leon and Mithian, Lancelot and Gwaine, Elyan and Sefa. And Morgana. And Helios.

Turns out Helios was a big footie fan, new in town, and only too eager to meet some people. Gwen was also able to find out that he owns a cat and loves Thai food. Morgana loves animals of any kind, and exotic food, especially spicy exotic food, is always on the top of her list.

So Gwen added Thai spring rolls with spicy peanut sauce to the menu.

Morgana was, of course, the last to arrive, knocking and entering before anyone answered the door. She greets their friends, and as she strides to the kitchen to find Gwen and Arthur, she quite literally bumps into Helios.

"Sorry!" she exclaims, looking up into his surprised, but smiling, face.

"Completely my fault," he says. "I don't believe we've officially met," he says, extending his hand. "Helios Monroe."

"Morgana Pendragon," she manages, her voice a little breathier than she would like.

"Are you related to Arthur?"

"He's my brother, sadly…"

Helios laughs. "I wouldn't have guessed it. You don't resemble each other."

"Thankfully," she grins.

"Oh, you don't mean that, surely. Arthur's a handsome guy," he says.

_Oh shit, he's gay._

"On the other hand, you are quite beautiful in your own right," he continues. She stares. "I'm not gay."

Morgana laughs suddenly then, blushing. "Were my thoughts that obvious?"

"Perhaps a little. I'm just," he straightens up, preening a little, "secure enough in my own manhood that I am able to acknowledge when another man is handsome, that's all. You know, like, um, those two… Lancelot and Gwaine. What is the deal with those two? Are they for real?"

Morgana laughs, then. "I know, it's bloody unfair that two guys that hot are gay. With each other. Seems like they're cheating out both sides, doesn't it?"

"I thought they were brothers at first," Helios chuckles. "But I'm keeping you, you were going to go greet our hosts, I take it?" Helios asks.

"What? Oh, yeah, I guess." In the direction of the kitchen she hears frantic whispers and scrambling. _They were SO spying on us._ "It was very nice meeting you, Helios."

"You, too. I'd really like to continue our conversation," he says. Then he reaches up and touches her chin with his index finger.

Morgana almost melts. "Yes, me, too. Save me a seat out there," she nearly whispers. He grins at her then, and Morgana quite literally feels the urge to peel her panties off right there.

She strides into the kitchen to find Arthur and Gwen locked in an embrace. Gwen is pinned against the pantry doors, her hands pinned over her head by one of Arthur's hands, his other one clasping her backside while they kiss deeply and with an abandon of which Morgana is secretly envious.

"You two can snog all you want, it doesn't change the fact that you were _spying_," Morgana says, taking a plate.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Arthur says, releasing Gwen only to recapture her, holding her in a little more G-rated fashion now.

"Don't think I didn't notice that the only single people at this party are me and Gwen's hot neighbor," she says. "Ooo, spring rolls."

"Well, I do like to be subtle," Gwen says, giggling.

"Subtle as a freight train," Morgana mumbles. She takes her plate and sweeps from the room.

Behind her, she hears the low rumble of Arthur's voice. "Now, where were we…"

Morgana returns to the living room, plate in one hand, cup in the other.

"Where are Gwen and Arthur?" Merlin asks.

"Having a snog in the kitchen. Someone should go turn the hose on those two before it turns into a full-on shag," she says, looking around. There are no seats.

_He said he'd save a seat for me…_

"Morgana," Helios calls to her, "I did save a seat for you."

She looks at him. He pats his knee. She grins.


	13. To the Brink

**On the edge of something beautiful**

I find my eyes tracking her movements throughout the hall. She's so graceful, so delicate. Not like a servant. Never like a servant.

She moves like nobility.

"Arthur, are you listening to me?" my father's voice cuts into the study I am making of Guinevere as she circulates, filling goblets and fetching napkins or cutlery.

"Hmm? Oh, sorry Father, no, I wasn't," I decide to try honesty and see where it gets me.

He sighs, exasperated. "Honestly, Arthur, if you are going to be a good king one day you are going to have to learn to pay attention when people are speaking to you."

Right.

"Yes, Father," I answer obediently.

Where'd she go?

"What were you saying?" I ask.

"Oh, never mind. Are you enjoying your feast?"

"Yes, very much. I liked the fire-eaters. Much better than that awful bear-baiter you got last year."

"More wine, my lord?" Her voice is like music dipped in honey.

"Yes, thank you," I say, sliding my goblet over closer to her. If she reached across me I don't think I would be able to control my actions.

She pours, and I turn my head, "casually" looking around the banquet. Really I'm turning my head toward her to inhale her lavender scent.

I only know it's lavender because I asked her once. She showed me the flower. Delicate and purple on a long, slender stem, silvery-green leaves. It's now my favorite flower. I never thought I would have a favorite flower.

But I never thought I would have a Guinevere, either.

"Happy birthday, Arthur," she somehow manages to whisper in my ear before she vanishes in a swirl of lavender scent and lavender skirts.

"Yes, that bear-baiter was a bit of a disappointment," my father agrees, resuming our conversation now that our cups have been filled. "The bear was clearly ill."

"It was funny when it fell asleep in the middle of the act, though," I chuckle, remembering the one highlight from last year's birthday feast.

She pauses to chat with Merlin a minute. What are they talking about? She looks a little nervous about something. Merlin's nodding, reassuring her of… what?

What, damn it? She's blushing now. Why on earth would she blush for Merlin?

"Arthur, are you all right? You seem distracted." Morgana's bothering me now, coming to sit beside me from her seat on the other side of my father.

"Just tired," I lie. I feel fine. But I am distracted by the beautiful doe that is my Guinevere. "Didn't sleep well last night, and training was long today."

Morgana absently fingers the strange gold bracelet she's been wearing constantly now. "You should have Gaius prepare you a draught. Might help you rest tonight," she suggests.

"I think this wine should do the trick, actually," I say, lifting my glass and toasting her silently with it before taking a drink.

Of course my eyes are trained on a slender neck, kissed by a few disobedient curls that have slipped from their pins.

To be one of those curls for even an hour.

"Well, perhaps tomorrow morning you can sleep in a bit. Surely you can afford to take one morning off," she suggests, smiling.

I shrug noncommittally, still wondering about Merlin and Gwen's conversation. I'm not jealous. Am I? No, I'm not. I know they are friends. Merlin knows how I feel about her, and he would never do anything like that to me. Not even because I'd kill him. He just wouldn't. Because I don't think that he could.

Damn, I lost her again. I make a sweep of the hall. She's gone. Perhaps she went to the kitchens to refill her jug.

xXx

I stumble to my room, not quite drunk but not quite sober. Warm, head slightly fuzzy.

She never came back to the feast. That saddens me.

I open the doors and enter my room, looking for Merlin.

"Merlin?"

"He's not here."

Wait. Maybe I am drunk after all. "G-Guinevere?"

"I… I asked him if he would like the night off…" she says shyly. "I, um, told him that I would attend you tonight. I hope you don't mind."

She did what? Is that what they were talking about? It would explain the blushing…

I stand there, gaping like an idiot, while she wrings her hands nervously.

Say something.

"No, I don't mind at all," I finally say. I'm still standing just inside the doors. I finally look around. She has a warm fire crackling in the fireplace, candles lit, my… oh, gods… bed turned down and my night clothes laid out.

She smiles nervously and turns away for a moment, pouring water into a goblet. On impulse, I reach back and slide the bolt in place across the doors, locking us in. I don't know what she has in mind, but whatever it is, I do _not_ want to be interrupted.

I finally will my feet into action. "What about Morgana? Don't you need to attend her?"

"She is under the impression that I am not feeling well," she says lightly. "Apparently something I had for lunch is not agreeing with me and I am at home hugging a bucket."

I laugh now, watching her putter around, moving efficiently, effortlessly arranging things that do not need arranging, placing another log on the fire, plumping my pillows.

I reach for her hand, my thumb stroking the back of her hand lightly. Her hands are not silky-soft, like Morgana's or a Lady's hands, but I wouldn't have them any other way. Those hands have comforted me too many times for me to wish them different.

"Would you like to change clothes, my lord?" she asks, blushing slightly. She is trying to remain cool, act as my servant for the night, but I can see her struggling. Because I'm fighting the same battle.

"I think I can manage by myself," I say, not wanting to make this any more difficult that it already is.

"I can assist," she presses quietly, and before I know it, she is loosening the belt. In a flash, it is gone and set neatly on a table.

"If you sit, I'll remove your boots," she says, her voice still quiet.

I am her puppet. So I sit. My brain is no longer following my orders. It belongs to her, just as the rest of me does.

I hold out my foot and she removes my boot, then we repeat the actions with my other foot. She even removes my socks.

I hope my feet don't smell too badly. I had a bath this afternoon, so I should be all right. She stares at my bare feet a moment, then stands, holding her hands out. I place my hands in hers and she pulls me to my feet.

Before I know it, my shirt is off. Her efficiency is almost unsettling. Morgana is lucky to have her as a servant, and she probably doesn't even realize it. I should have Merlin attend her for an evening; then she'd know that Guinevere is a treasure.

"Um, I'll just do the trousers myself," I say, grabbing my sleeping trousers and disappearing behind my changing screen.

This is no good at all. My body is already getting ideas that it probably shouldn't be having, and the soft cotton of my sleeping trousers is doing a very poor job of disguising the semi-aroused state I seem to be in.

Think about jousting. No, that's no good, not jousting. Too much thrusting and long poles. Merlin. Think about Merlin. Gaius. Even better, Gaius. Gaius and… socks. Yes. Socks. Gaius wearing socks.

Better.

I emerge from behind the screen and Gwen takes my trousers and sets them in the basket with the rest of my laundry.

"Is there anything else you require, my lord?"

"Only that you stop addressing me by my title, Guinevere." I hate it when she does that. I understand why she does it, but that doesn't mean I like it.

She looks away and says nothing. Now I'm afraid I've hurt her feelings.

"Guinevere," I say, my voice soft. "I do need one more thing."

"Of course," she says, her soft brown eyes returning to me.

"I need a goodnight kiss," I say.

"Aren't you going to put a shirt on?" she asks, not moving yet.

I step towards her. "No. I sometimes get too warm." That's the truth, actually. The fact that I'll likely get to feel her hands on my bare skin is just a bonus.

"Oh," she says. I pull her into my arms rather suddenly and she repeats, "Oh!"

She is so beautiful. It amazes me that I never noticed this until a few short years ago. How could I have missed it?

My hands slide on her back, and I bring one up to gently cradle the back of her head as I claim her lips with my own.

Her arms are bent, pinned between us, and her palms are resting on my chest. I feel her fingers curl into my chest hair, and I boldly deepen the kiss, parting her succulent lips with my tongue. She accepts it into her mouth, actually sucking hungrily on it for a moment before sliding her own sweet tongue against mine.

Her hands move slightly, caressing my chest now, and one comes up around my neck. Bravely I move the arm around her waist, sliding my hand down to come to rest on her backside. She whimpers but does not stop kissing me. I lean into her, feel the muscles in her body shift as she clings to my neck.

All thoughts of Gaius and his socks are a distant memory, and my hips press against her of their own accord. I'm certain she can feel my arousal against her when she whimpers again and I feel the small, sharp bite of her fingernails as they dig into my chest.

Where is my bed? I peep open one eye. We are frighteningly close to it. Her fingers lace into my hair now and my feet move until we are right beside the bed.

I've never kissed her quite like this. We were getting there at the picnic, before we were interrupted, but this is…

Wait, stop. Remember she was almost killed because of this.

I pull away, gently. Resting my head on hers, I whisper, "You should probably go before I do something I shouldn't." We are both breathing heavily, both overly warm, both still clinging to each other.

"We've already done several things we shouldn't," she answers. She has a point.

"Guinevere, if you don't leave now, I'm going to lay you down on that bed and make love to you. Probably all night long."

Did I just say that out loud?

She exhales, a long breath released, blowing hot against my neck. I can feel her conflict.

"I want you to make love to me," she whispers. "I do, even though I know we shouldn't."

Again, neither of us moves. I don't think either one of us wants to decide.

She almost died for less. I can't risk her life again. I slowly release her with a shuddering sigh.

"Would have been a hell of a birthday present," I say, trying to lighten the mood.

She giggles slightly at this, but I can sense disappointment on her.

"After what happened, I cannot risk it. No matter how much I want it. How much I want you."

"I know," she sighs, her hands smoothing her dress, her hair. "I suppose I should say 'thank you,' but somehow I feel…"

"Cheated," I supply. Because I feel the same way. She nods.

I steal one more kiss before I allow her to slip away, watching her walk to the door. She sees the locked bolt and smirks at me over her shoulder.

"Goodnight, Guinevere," I say. "And it was still the best birthday gift ever, do not doubt that, my love."

She smiles. "Happy birthday, my lord," she answers. There is something different about how she said "my lord" this time. It sounded like an endearment this time. A seduction. She grants me one last smile before sliding the bolt and exiting, heading out into the night to her small house.

I'd love to be able to hide out there again sometime. Her bed is narrow, but I think we'd manage it. She's tiny.

I can't sleep now. I'm wide awake and frustrated. She brought me right to the edge of something beautiful and I had to step away, for her safety.

It's supremely frustrating, and I am well aware that I'll have to do something about my situation before I can sleep. Again. The memories are fresh in my mind, and I savor them.

Because one day.


	14. In Dreaming

**The last several years, Arthur, Gwen, Merlin, Morgana (and whoever else) have been suffering (sometimes violent) delusions in a Mental Institution. Camelot's not real. It only exists in their heads.**

"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream." –Edgar Allan Poe

_Swords clash, things explode in plumes of fire all around me. The dragon swoops, spraying fire from his giant maw. I slash with my sword, knowing it will do no good. Still, I must try._

_Wait. Why is she at the well? Get out of here, get to safety! "Gwen?" I yell, trying to get her attention. The dragon has circled around and is coming back._

_"Guinevere!"_

"Mr. Pendell!"

Strong hands grip his shoulders. Steadying him. He blinks awake.

"Calm down, please, you're disturbing your roommate."

"My name is Arthur Pendragon, Crowned Prince of Camelot. I don't take orders from peasants."

Percival sighs. As the biggest, strongest orderly in the hospital, he's been assigned permanently to this ward, specifically to Arnold Pendell, who thinks he's a prince. He gets loud, he gets violent, and Percy is the only one large enough to physically subdue him when he is raving, screaming "For the love of Camelot!" and the woman's name, Guinevere.

"Yes, my lord. It's me, Sir Percival. You are not well, you must rest." He's learned that playing along sometimes helps.

"Oh…" he drifts off again as the sedative takes effect.

Percy glances over to the thin figure in the other bed. Marvin Endicott. Poor sod. Almost as barmy as Pendell, rambling on about "destiny." Speaks in tongues at times. Thinks he has magic powers.

Mostly harmless, though. And for some odd reason, Pendell's behavior has improved since they moved him in with Endicott.

xXx

_"Hold still…"_

_I keep still, gasping quietly. "Is it bandits?" I whisper, watching as he reaches back, grasping for his sword, I think. My heart is in my throat._

_He moves, quick as a flash, striking out. I flinch, closing my eyes. I open them to see his leather glove in his hand._

_"A wasp," he declares, grinning smugly, as though he has saved me from some great peril._

_He's so ridiculous. I lift up on my elbow and lean my face towards him to give him his reward. I lean down over him and his lifts his chin to meet my lips, and I am lost. He tastes of wine and spring air and sunshine, and I have never been so happy as I am in this moment._

"Genevieve? Wake up, dear, it's time for your medicine," the nurse addresses her kindly, squeezing the small woman's shoulder.

"Guinevere!"

The name, shouted from across the hall, drifts to them and the nurse sighs. "Poor man."

Because she is looking away, she doesn't notice Genevieve's eyes snap in the direction of the voice.

xXx

"Ah, Dr. Gaius. Dr. Alator, welcome," Dr. Tony Luther greets them. Dr. Luther is the hospital administrator, and he's gotten fed up with their four "star" patients. He's called in these two doctors to consult, the finest minds in minds.

"Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Luther," Dr. Gaius shakes the administrator's hand. He sits. "Tell us about these fascinating patients."

Luther slides over for manilla folders. "I don't know about fascinating, but definitely frustrating," he sighs.

_Arnold Pendell, Marvin Endicott, Genevieve Thomason, Maureen Peterson._

He hands them to Dr. Alator, raising a bushy white eyebrow in a significant manner. Dr. Alator reads the names and nods.

"Pendell thinks he's royalty. He's almost the worst of the group. He can get violent, and we've had to assign a power lifter-turned orderly to him permanently because he's the only one who can overpower him. He's remarkably strong. Because he thinks he's a prince, he's very high-handed when he's awake. When he's not thrashing an imaginary sword madly about, that is."

"I see," Gaius nods calmly.

"He has been a bit better lately. We've moved him in with Endicott, who seems to have somewhat of a steadying influence. He's mostly delusional. When he's speaking English, he goes on about destiny. Talks to an imaginary dragon, sometimes."

"What language does he speak when he is not speaking English?" Dr. Alator speaks for the first time, his speech bearing a strange accent. It sounds like a strange mixture of Scottish and Polish.

"That's the fascinating bit. It appears to be a form of Old English."

Alator nods.

"Miss Thomason is generally not a problem. She doesn't speak, mostly non-responsive, even when awake. The reason she is included is, well… she seems to be the only person that Pendell is completely calm around. We discovered this quite by accident."

"Explain," Gaius prompts.

"We had a fire a few months ago. I'm sure you can imagine the kind of chaos a fire in a psychiatric hospital can cause. Well, in any case, we had to quickly move several patients, and somehow Pendell's bed ended up in Genevieve Thomason's room. He still thought he was a prince, but he was nicer. Significantly nicer."

"Why didn't you just leave him with her?" Gaius asks.

"Well, we generally do not have men and women room together. Unless they happen to be married, which only happened once. But even so we had to separate them, because in this particular case, he kept crawling into bed with her."

Gaius' mouth twitches; he is trying to hold back his smile. "Did he…?"

"No! No, no, that's the odd part. He just… lay there with her in his arms. Holding her. Whispering to her." He furrows his brow. "It would have almost been sweet if they weren't both completely gone. He would reluctantly go back to his own bed during the day, but each night he'd climb into bed with her."

"In any case, after three nights of this, we had to sedate him to move him out again. Heavily. He was out cold for a day and we had to strap him in once he woke up, he was that agitated. But then we moved him in with Endicott and while he's not been great, he's been… tolerable."

"And this last one? Peterson?" Alator asks, holding up the folder.

"She's a huge problem. We keep her confined in her own room, her wrists strapped to her bed most of the time. Even more violent than Pendell. Spits at people. Also occasionally speaks Old English. Some of the nurses refer to her as The Witch."

Gaius nods again. His unflappable demeanor both unnerves and reassures Dr. Luther.

"I suppose it's nicer than what they _could_ call her," Luther shrugs.

xXx

_"Dragorn. Non didlkai. Kari miss, epsipass imalla krat. Katostar abore ceriss. Katicur. Me ta sentende divoless. Kar… krisass."_

_"I am the last of my kind, Merlin. Whatever wrongs I have done, do not make me responsible for the death of my noble breed," Kilgarrah says, pleading for my mercy._

_I thrust Arthur's spear at him, and he recoils. I pause._

_"Go!" I shout. "Leave! If you ever attack Camelot again, I will kill you!"_

_Kilgarrah bowed his massive head to me, acknowledging me as a dragonlord. Acknowledging my words. I knew he would obey me. Because I am a dragonlord. He has no choice._

_I throw the spear to the ground. "I have shown you mercy. Now you must do the same to others."_

_"Young warlock, what you have shown is what you will be. I will not forget your clemency. I'm sure our paths will cross again," he says, then pushes off from the ground by his massive legs. He flies off into the night on great, silent wings._

"It creeps me out when he talks in those strange languages," the other orderly says, walking in to see what all the noise is about. Pendell has just quieted down and now Endicott has started up, shouting in a bizarre language.

"If you're so easily creeped out, why do you work in a nuthouse?" Percy snaps at him, bringing the blankets up over the now-unconscious Pendell, tucking him in almost gently.

xXx

_"Here," he pushes the water skin at me again._

_"I'm fine," I say tiredly, still tearing strips of cloth._

_"No, you'll have some before I finish it." He holds it down to me again._

_Fine, I'll drink, just to shut him up. "Thank you," I say, taking it. The water is cool, tasting slightly leathery from the pouch. He turns his back while I work._

_I cough once. Wait… something's wrong. My breath… it's not coming. I look up at Merlin, he is standing, still as stone. Then he brings his hand to his face, wiping quickly. He looks back over his shoulder._

_I gasp. He poisoned me! I cannot speak. He nods once, his face grim._

_I wouldn't have thought him capable. Then he crouches down, the traitor, trying to comfort me. He poisons me one minute, then tries to give comfort the next? I push him away, swat at his arms, yet somehow I find myself being held by him as the air refuses to enter my lungs._

"Aaaauuurrgghhhhh!" she screams, jolting awake. "Curse you!" She thrashes about, pulling on her restraints. "I… will… have… my… revenge!"

"Oh, shit. Get the doctor!"

"Crazy night…" the orderly mutters, sprinting from the room.

xXx

"Is it time?" Gaius asks, slipping into the ward. It is ghostly quiet, the patients slumbering in their drugged sleep.

"Nearly. We have to get to them, and quickly," Alator answers. They steal through the ward, peering at the placards next to the doors.

_Endicott/Pendell._

"This one first," Alator says, pushing the door open. Thankfully, there is no one apart from the two men there. Alator crosses immediately to Marvin, frowning down at him, saddened and disgusted by his current state.

"Alator," Gaius prompts, "Do it."

Alator nods, remembering himself, and places his hand on Marvin's forehead. He closes his eyes and whispers an incantation.

Marvin's eyes snap open. They are clear, blue, and alert. He is Merlin. He sees Gaius and is about to cry out, but Alator puts his hand over his mouth. Gaius shakes his head _no_ and puts his finger to his lips. Merlin nods and Alator moves his hand away.

"Put this on," he tosses a bundle at him and moves over to Arnold.

"Wait," Merlin whispers. "He doesn't know you; he'll immediately try to kill you when he wakes." He gets out of bed, and comes to stand beside Alator. "Okay."

Alator repeats the procedure with Arnold, and when his keen blue-grey eyes open, it is immediately clear that he is Arthur.

"Where the hell am I? Who the hell is this?" He looks at Merlin for answers.

"We'll explain later, Sire. Put these on," Gaius answers, handing him a bundle.

"Where's my sword?"

"You won't need one here, Sire," Alator answers, already striding from the room. "Merlin, where is she?"

"Across the hall. Best wake her before Arthur sees her like that," Merlin cautions.

"Sees who like what?" Arthur hisses. "Guinevere? What's happened to Guinevere?" he starts to raise his voice and Gaius shushes him, helping him change clothes.

Across the hall, Alator is bringing Gwen around, she blinks awake, her wide brown eyes puzzled and wary.

"Gwen, it's okay. He's a friend. Arthur's coming, he's…"

"Right here," Arthur says, rushing in now, to her side. "Guinevere, oh, Guinevere, what have they done to you?" he whispers, holding her on her hospital bed, peppering her face with kisses.

"The same thing they've done to you, it seems," she answers, kissing him back eagerly. "Whoever _they_ are…" She starts pulling on the garments Gaius has handed her.

"Okay, let's go," Arthur says. He stands. He stops. "How do we get back?"

"There is one more, my lord," Alator says. "One more we must retrieve."

"Who?" Arthur says, following them out of the room, his hand in Gwen's where it belongs.

As they party slips quietly down the hall, the answer becomes clear.

"No," Arthur says. "Leave her here."

"We can't, Sire," Gaius says. "She does not belong in this world any more than any of us do. We must return with her or we'll all be trapped."

"Yes, we must bring her as well," Alator says. "It is the only way."

"Who is this guy?" Arthur mutters to Merlin.

"A friend. He has magic, but you are _not_ killing him," Merlin answers tersely.

Arthur glances at Gwen, who just nods. _Listen to him for once._

They pause outside her door.

"Take her unconscious. She'll kill us all otherwise," Merlin says. He looks at Arthur.

Sighing, Arthur steps forward and starts undoing her bindings.

"Can I be of some assistance?" a soft voice interrupts them from the door.

"Percival, thank God!" Arthur sighs, relieved. "Now I won't have to carry her."

"How did you end up here?" Gwen asks.

Percival shrugs. "Wrong place, wrong time. So I've been hiding out in plain sight, looking after you all. Luckily the insanity was not placed on my head as well."

"Help me with her," Arthur says, lifting his despicable half-sister from her bed. Percival hoists her easily up over his massive shoulder.

"To the roof," Alator declares, heading for the stairwell.

"Wait, this will be easier," Percival says, pressing the elevator button. They all eye it suspiciously. "It's bloody amazing, trust me."

There is a _ping_ and the doors slide open. They all bundle in, staring, as Percival presses another button.

xXx

"Alator! I should have known you would show your face!" the witch screams.

They are all sprawled in the grass, on an island. The Isle of the Blessed.

"Nimueh, why do you persecute them still?" Alator asks, the first to stand.

"I thought I killed her," Merlin mutters to Gaius, helping the older man to his feet.

"You did. She was brought back somehow and still wants her revenge," Gaius whispers back.

Alator lifts his hands, chanting, calling down fury from the heavens. The skies darken; it starts to rain.

"Merlin, he needs help," Gaius says.

"I can't."

"You must. He is strong, but you are stronger."

"But Arthur…"

"Will get over it. Go," he urges.

Merlin steps forward, joining Alator, chanting with him. Nimueh's eyes grow wide with disbelief. She knows Merlin is a warlock, but she never thought he would reveal himself in front of Arthur.

"Merlin?" Arthur is dumbfounded, struggling to his feet. Gwen's gentle hand on his elbow is the only thing that stops him from rushing forward to tackle Merlin to the ground.

"Be still, Arthur, he's helping," she whispers.

"Did you know?" he sputters.

"No. Though I can't say I'm terribly surprised."

"I am."

As they watch, Nimueh shrinks, then expands, bright red, exploding in a shower of sparks. They all shield their eyes, and when they look again, the skies are clear and she is gone.

Alator sags. Merlin supports him, leading him to a rock to sit.

"Thank you," Alator gasps. "I could not have managed it on my own."

"Thank _you, _Alator. Only the gods know how long we would have been trapped there if you and Gaius hadn't come for us."

"Merlin?" Arthur calls.

"I'll explain everything later, Arthur," Merlin sighs. "You can put me in the dungeons if you want."

"I don't think Guinevere is going to let me do that, but you had better believe we are going to have a long talk."

"What are we going to do about her?" Percival says, pointing to the still-unconscious Morgana.

"Leave her," Merlin says. "No doubt Morgause will be along shortly to sort her out. Let's go home."


	15. Everyone Has a Past

**Modern AU: Arthur learns that Gwen dated Morgana during her bi-curious phase in college, when he brings her around for the Sunday family dinner with the parents (Uther and Ygraine).**

"Oh, my God, Gwen! Arthur didn't tell me that _you_ were the Gwen he was seeing!" Morgana exclaims, hugging Gwen tightly with a squeal. "He always calls you Guinevere, and I never made the connection…"

"Hey, Morgana," Gwen answers, a trifle nervously, hugging her back, a little less tightly. "I guess I didn't realize you were Arthur's sister. I mean, I figured you might be related, as Pendragon isn't a very common name and all…"

"You two know each other?" Arthur asks, puzzled.

"Um, yes, we knew one another at University. Morgana was friends with my roommate Freya, and…"

"Oh, weird. Small world," Arthur says. "Come on, let's go meet my parents," he says, taking Gwen's hand now.

"Well, I hope you've already met them," Gwen remarks, inwardly exhaling that Morgana kept her mouth shut about the nature of their past friendship.

_I'm going to have to tell him at some point. Surely he knows his sister is a lesbian, though…_

Thankfully, Arthur's parents keep her occupied with questions about her job and her family. Ygraine is lovely and engaging. Uther is a little stoic but proves to have a very dry, sneaky sense of humor that continually catches Gwen off guard.

"Have you kept in touch with Freya?" Morgana asks suddenly.

"No, unfortunately we lost track of each other. She went the veterinary school and I went to grad school, and it just got too hard. You?"

"Well, she's just started dating Arthur's best friend," Morgana smirks.

"Merlin? Wow, really?"

"So you may be seeing her again. Perhaps the four of you could go out on a double date," she suggests. "Oh, wait, Arthur doesn't like double dates, the selfish bastard," she chuckles.

"Sorry if I didn't want to take my new girlfriend on a double date with my sister and _her_ girlfriend, Morgs," Arthur sighs. "We'd only been dating a couple weeks, I felt it was a little early in our relationship to unleash the Gay Sister on her."

"I think I would have been okay, Love," Gwen comments.

"Well, I know that _now,_ Arthur comments. Morgana, would you and Vivian like to join Guinevere and me for dinner some time?" he asks. "God, I just asked my sister out. Yuck."

"Don't worry, Arthur, you're not her type," Uther comments mildly, taking a sip of his wine.

Gwen gets through the evening, but she couldn't help notice Morgana's eyes on her a little more than she would have been comfortable with.

"You're quiet, Guinevere," Arthur says, reaching for her hand while they drive back to the apartment they just rented together.

"Arthur, I have something to tell you that you're not going to like, so I'm just going to come right out and say it."

"Um, okay…" he says.

She says nothing for a moment, waiting until they are stopped at a stoplight. _Wouldn't want him to drive off the road._

She extracts her hand from his. "Arthur, you sister and I were lovers in college. Briefly."

He stares. She swallows, and continues.

"I told you I went through an… experimental phase…"

"With my _sister?_"

"Arthur, it was ten years ago."

The rest of the drive is silent. Gwen looks out the window. _That's it. He's going to leave me. I just got unpacked, and now I'm going to have to re-pack._ She peeks at Arthur. His face is a mask. _I hate it when he shuts down like this._

They walk up to their apartment. They may as well be strangers. Gwen immediately goes back to the bedroom, flops on the bed, and lets the tears fall, clutching his pillow.

Arthur paces. He thinks about the bottles of beer in the fridge. He decides that they are a bad idea.

Finally he walks to the bedroom to find her curled on her side around his pillow. He can hear her sobs, and they rip at his heart. "Did you… _feel_ anything for her when you saw her today?" he finally asks.

"No," she sniffs, almost petulantly, still facing away from him. "It was one week during freshman year. I thought she was beautiful and exciting. I thought I might be… attracted to her. She was already way out."

"I know. She came out the summer before she went to uni. Dad didn't talk to her for a week," he chuckles. "He's okay with it now…" he trails off.

The fact that he is rambling makes her feel better. _If he was really angry he wouldn't be suffering from verbal diarrhea._

"I was young and confused. I guess I needed to learn the hard way which way my… preferences lie."

"And you decided…?"

She finally turns and looks at him. "I like penises."

"All of them?" he asks, raising an eyebrow now.

"Mostly yours," she says, her unsteady breathing hitching into a sob/giggle.

He comes over and sits on the bed now. "What's in the past is in the past," he finally declares.

"Spoken like a man who has something to confess," she says, arching her own eyebrow at him.

"Well, Merlin and I…"

"NO!"

"Kidding! Sorry, I couldn't pass it up. Though inexplicably people sometimes think that we are…"

"Well, you _are_ rather close."

"I've been friends with him since we were five! Sheesh…"

He flops down onto the bed, curling himself around her now. "You know Elana Godwin?"

"Ew, Arthur, no…"

"Yeah. Tapped that. Not proud of it."

"Please tell me alcohol was involved. The woman is an insufferable cow."

"Of _course_ alcohol was involved," he says, kissing the top of her head.

"Did you have yourself tested after?" she says, giggling now.

"For…?"

"Herpes, gonorrhea… anthrax, rabies, distemper, worms…"

"Those last four are diseases animals get."

"Your point?" she looks up at him.

"Shut up," he says, leaning down to kiss her now. "Ugh, mental images of you and my sister…" he groans, pulling away and pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead in an overly dramatic fashion. "Might be kind of hot if it wasn't my bloody sister…"

"Shall I help erase those horrific mental pictures?" Gwen asks, slowly sliding her hand down his chest.

"You can try," he says, trying to sound despondent.

Her hand slips inside his trousers and effectively erases any thought from his brain other than her.


	16. What Happens in the Cave…

**Gwaine and Arthur friendship, Gwaine and Arthur are trapped**

"When are you going to ask her?"

"Ask who, what?"

"Ask Gwen to marry you." Gwaine flips his hair in that irritatingly swish _way_ that he had and looks at Arthur in the dim light provided by their one last guttering torch.

"Gwaine, we're trapped in a cave and you're asking about my love life?"

"Yeah," he shrugs. "Gotta talk about something."

"No, we don't. Wish I was trapped with Percival. He could have at least moved some of the rocks and we might have had a chance to get out."

"Stop avoiding the question," Gwaine goads.

"_And_ Percival doesn't prattle on incessantly," Arthur adds pointedly.

"Well?"

"Gods, you're like a badger," Arthur groans. "All right, fine. I don't know, okay? And if we never get out of here I'll never get the chance anyway."

"Why don't you know?" Gwaine asks, ignoring the second half of Arthur's groaning reply.

Arthur says nothing, tracing patterns in the dirt with the tip of his sword.

"You love her?"

"Yes."

"Then ask her, Princess."

Arthur is quiet again. "I screwed up," he finally admits.

"What? She doesn't seem heartbroken, I would know, believe me. Or, wait – did you do something and she doesn't know yet? I know you're my king and all, but if you destroy her I will cut your throat without a second thought," Gwaine is suddenly agitated, his passionate nature clearly extending to all aspects of his personality.

"No, it's done already, and she's forgiven me. Though I can't imagine why. I just… Well, now I'm just not sure if she'll say yes."

Gwaine notices that his threat didn't seem to faze Arthur at all, which is very telling. _Almost as if Arthur would want his throat slit if he hurt her. Somehow that makes me feel better._ "What did… you know what? I don't even want to know." Gwaine waves his hand dismissively. "She'll say yes, Arthur. Why would you even doubt that?"

"She's always been a lot more careful about our relationship than I have. She may say no because she feels she has to, even if she wants to say yes."

"You're the king now," Gwaine reminds him.

"I'm not going to order her to marry me!" Arthur is appalled.

"No, I didn't mean it like that. You're the king; you make the rules. If you want to marry a beautiful serving girl who is wiser than all the knights put together, including you, then go ahead and do it."

"My uncle will be against it."

Gwaine narrows his eyes. "Agravaine is an ignorant toad."

Arthur looks at him. "What?"

"He was the one that advised you to kill Caerleon. Wrong move, mate, sorry."

"I know that now. He also advised me to end things with Guinevere."

"Did you?"

Arthur resumes tracing patterns in the dirt.

Gwaine rolls his eyes, disgusted. "You did! You bastard!" he exclaims.

"I know. But like I said, she forgave me and took me back."

"Arthur, have a backbone, man. He's an advisor, but you're still the bloody king. You don't have to do what he recommends just because he's older. He doesn't know what Camelot needs. Hell, _I've_ been in Camelot longer than he has."

"He's family."

"Doesn't mean he's always right."

Arthur shrugs.

"And besides, Gwen isn't as careful as you think. I saw it the first time I came to Camelot, just from two conversations with her."

"Really?"

"Well, I am a bit more… _attuned_ to the ways of women than most…" he brags, flipping his hair again.

"What did she say?" Arthur asks, expectantly.

Gwaine laughs now. "Stop behaving like a girl. And it wasn't so much what she said, but how she said it. She got that faraway look in those beautiful brown eyes when she started talking about you. Her breathing sped up. Her lovely face went all soft. I could have seen it if I was blind, mate."

"Merlin said the same thing. 'A blind man could see it,' he said once. Years ago," he chuckles.

"Years? How long have you two been sneaking around, anyway?"

"About five years."

"Five years?!"

Arthur nods.

"Have you…" Gwaine nudges him with his elbow, "with her?"

"Not that it's any of your bloody business, _Gwaine,_ but no. I wouldn't compromise her virtue that way, nor would I keep her as my mistress. She wouldn't go for that, anyway."

"Too right there, mate. But _five years?_ So then, you've had…_ nothing_ in the way of female attention other than the occasional stolen kiss?"

Arthur says nothing, and Gwaine has his answer.

"No wonder you're always so hard on us during training," Gwaine smirks.

"Shut up. I shouldn't even be discussing this with you."

"Who else are you going to discuss this with? Merlin?" Gwaine laughs. "Merlin's a great guy, but he's hardly an authority on love."

"He's hardly an authority on anything," Arthur mutters.

"Oh, now, you know that's not true. You just don't want to admit you like him."

"That would be correct," Arthur smirks.

Gwaine shoves him lightly. "When we get out of here, ask Gwen, marry her as soon as possible, and then I don't want to see either of you for at least two days after the wedding. At _least._"

"Wha—oh." Arthur presses his lips together and hopes that he's not blushing. He probably is, because Gwaine is snickering now.

There is a rumble at the pile of fallen boulders blocking them in. They hear voices. They scramble to their feet.

A boulder shifts. A shaft of sharp sunlight pierces through the darkness before it is blocked by Percival's head peeking in.

"Oi! All right in there?" he asks, smiling.

"Thank the gods," Arthur starts to walk forward, but then he stops, grabbing Gwaine's arm. "Not one word."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I fell asleep," Gwaine says, winking at him.


	17. One Shade of Pendragon Red

**Illusion of control**

"You'll tell me if I hurt you, right?"

"Arthur, stop being such a pussy. You're supposed to be in control here, act like it," Gwen finally snaps. "Now finish tying me up."

Arthur had always been a bit preoccupied with Guinevere's perfectly round little backside. Then last week he'd confessed to having a spanking fantasy, and suddenly his preoccupation made sense. So tonight Gwen had offered to let him fulfill his fantasy, presenting him with satin ropes, handcuffs, an eye mask, a paddle and a riding crop.

He stared at the items for several minutes before he'd finally looked at her and simply said, "Really? I can?"

Only now, when he was in the process of tying her wrists to the headboard, he started to chicken out. Constantly asking if she's sure, if she's all right.

Gwen simply wanted him to take charge and _give it to her._ She knows he's capable of it. He runs a Fortune 500 company. He knows how to take charge.

"Sorry," he says, pulling the knot secure.

"Don't apologize. Pretend you're at work."

"What?"

"You are a commanding presence at work, Arthur. Everyone's a little afraid of you."

"I don't want you to be afraid of me."

"Arthur, I _want_ to be a little afraid of you," she purrs, looking over her shoulder at him.

Arthur's cock suddenly sits up and takes notice. He steps back and admires his work.

His lovely Guinevere, on her knees, her torso propped up on numerous pillows, her hands tied to the bed. Her hair is in two ponytails and she is wearing red stiletto heels and nothing else.

"Wow," he croaks, sliding his hand across her ass, which is pointed at him, daring him, inviting him. "Do you want the mask?"

"If you want me to wear the mask… Master," she says, keeping her voice in that same purring, seductive tone.

"Holy shit…" he mutters quietly. He takes the mask, a purple satin eye mask that Gwen received as a part of a bath and body gift basket, and slips it carefully over her eyes.

"We should have a safe word," he declares, trying to sound confident. In truth, he's still a bit nervous. "In case you want me to stop."

"Okay," she says, turning her head to the side to rest on the pillow. "Um, ukulele."

"Ukulele?"

"Hey, it's gotta be something specific, right? Something that isn't likely to be misheard."

"Fair enough," he says. Then, swallowing hard, he ventures, "Now be quiet." Then he smacks her backside once, but not terribly hard.

"Mmm," Gwen coos, settling in finally. She thinks she hears the soft cottony sound of Arthur's boxers dropping to the floor.

"Do you want me to do that again?" he asks, climbing onto the bed behind her now, his palm caressing her skin gently. It almost tickles, he is touching so softly.

"Yes… Master," she answers.

He obliges, spanking her other cheek now, a little harder.

"Ooo."

Arthur raises an eyebrow. He glances at the paddle and the crop. _I think I'm enjoying using my hand right now, _he decides, and whaps her again.

She whimpers deliciously, and he slides his hand over her pinkening cheeks a few more times before delivering another spank, harder still.

"Oh!"

Arthur is about to ask her if she's all right, but he bites his tongue. _She certainly looks all right. And she didn't say the safe word._ He runs his hand around and down, touching her briefly in between her legs. His fingers come back slick with her moisture.

_All right, then._ His own arousal is growing ever more needful with each blow, and currently it's pressing against the back of Gwen's thighs as he kneels behind her.

He grows more confident with each coo of pleasure, each impassioned cry only encourages him until he can take no more and buries himself into her from behind.

"Oh, God, Arthur!" she exclaims, his sudden entrance taking her slightly by surprise.

He thrusts hard and slaps her behind once more, sharply.

"Master, I mean! Oh, Master!"

Mindless of anything but her now, he drives into her from behind, snaking his hand around now to stroke her into the same mindless state, his other hand gripping her hip.

"Oh… Gui… nnnnnahhh…." Arthur slowly groans her name, abandoning it after the second syllable as he comes, his whole body a coiled spring let loose into her. Mindlessly his fingers still work at her center and she spirals down right behind him, screaming his name into the pillows.

He collapses over her, yanking pillows out from underneath her so she stop kneeling. Reaching up to untie her hands, he spoons up behind her and kisses her behind the ear, gently taking the mask off now.

"God, I love you," he whispers.

The next morning, while Gwen is in the shower, Arthur opens her nightstand drawer in search of a pair of nail clippers. He finds a copy of _50 Shades of Grey_ staring up at him with a bookmark placed very near the end of it.

"Hmm…" he picks up the book, his jagged fingernail forgotten, and starts to read.


	18. Arthur the Elephant Man

**Modern AU: I'll show you mine if you show me yours.**

"Today's assignment is to draw a portrait of the person sitting across from you."

Gwen peeks across her desk at the handsome blonde man seated opposite her. _At least I have an excuse to stare today._

He smiles shyly at her. _At least I have an excuse to stare today._

"I'll try my best, but I kind of suck," she says suddenly.

"I'm sure you're not that bad," he says, chuckling.

"Wait till you see my drawing of… I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your name." It's their third class, and they've been engaging in some light flirting, but hadn't gotten around to exchanging names.

"Arthur."

"Well, wait till you see my drawing of Arthur the Elephant Man," she says, smirking at him and picking up her pencil.

Arthur chuckles again, starting to draw as well.

Their desks are angled upward, so neither can see what the other is doing.

"So presumably you took this class to try and get better at your art?" Arthur asks, looking up at her.

"To try and develop some meager ability," she says, looking up and grinning at him. "And to meet people. I just moved here a month ago."

"Mmm," he nods. "I guess I wouldn't have thought to take an art class at a museum."

"What would you do?"

"I don't know," he says, chewing the end of the pencil while he ponders her for a moment.

Gwen can feel his eyes on her. She wants to look up. She needs to look up to check and see if she got his nose… passable. Instead she keeps her head bent over her page.

"Guinevere," he says quietly.

_I didn't know he knew my name._ "Hmm?" She looks up.

"Don't scowl. I don't want to draw you scowling."

"Sorry," she mutters, blushing, willing her brow to unfurrow.

"Don't get me wrong, it's a very cute little scowl, but that's not what I want to draw. Not right now."

_What?_ "Oh."

Gaius circulates, peering over shoulders, making comments. Gwen likes Gaius, but she always gets nervous when he's looking over her shoulder.

"Arthur, this is very good," Gaius says, leaning in to inspect. "You've done an excellent job on her eyes. Good luck with her hair, though," he chuckles, glancing at Gwen's riot of dark curls.

"Her hair is the best part," Arthur says casually. Gaius raises his eyebrow and strolls around to Gwen's desk.

She cringes. "Not bad… not bad. Try to think in simple shapes and build from there."

"Okay," she says. She looks at her drawing and then at him. _Why does he have to be so perfect?_

She sighs and presses on.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," Arthur says suddenly. Neither of them had spoken for the last half an hour, though Gwen swears she's going to need to go home and change her panties after some of the looks he's been giving her. She's never had so much eye sex in her life.

"Excuse me?" Gwen answers, raising her eyebrows at him, a half smile curving her lips just so.

"It's time to go. Let me see," he prompts, holding his hand out.

_God, even his hands are beautiful,_ she thinks, her mind reeling with possible scenarios involving those hands.

"Don't hate me," she says quietly, passing her paper over the top of the desks, wincing as he takes it.

He studies it, saying nothing for an agonizing ten seconds.

_It does resemble me. She warned me that she sucked, but I think she undersold herself._ "Can I have this?"

"You… you _want_ it?"

He nods. "I do. I like it."

"It's awful."

"It's not."

"You're full of shit."

"I'm not! I think you've done well."

"You can keep it, if you really want it. I'm, um, glad you like it. Can I see yours?"

He hands it over almost apologetically.

When Gwen sees it, she understands why. _It's gorgeous. Almost perfect, but I don't look that good._

"Well?"

"I'm glad I showed you mine first," she says. "If I had known you were this good I would never have…"

"Turn it over, Guinevere."

"What?"

"Look on the back," he says, gnawing his bottom lip a little.

She flips it over.

_Will you go out with me?_


	19. You'll Feel Better, They Said

**Gwen isn't totally happy with their sex life**

Lance is panting, sated. I lay there, staring. Frustrated. Again.

Damn him. I wonder what the women I see stumbling over themselves to catch his eye would say if they knew what a selfish lover he is. How… barely adequate he is in bed.

It's not like I'm difficult to satisfy. It just takes me longer than 30 seconds to get there.

Lance starts snoring now. Splendid. So glad he's nice and relaxed and spent and cozy and sleepy.

Why did I let him seduce me again? I was going to break up with him, and he was looking at me with that blasted smolder of his, and then he started kissing my neck.

Stupid, traitorous neck. He knows that's my weak point. So I thought I'd give it a go.

But that's the problem with dating a man who is less than satisfactory in bed. You walk around perpetually horny, buying a lot of batteries.

But now I remember why I was going to break up with him. Well, one of the reasons. I've got a list.

Fuck it. I'm going home.

Getting up, I pull my clothes back on. I look down at Lance.

"Lance," I say, poking his shoulder. "Lancelot."

"Hmm?"

"I'm going home. And I'm not coming back. I'm sorry. I... I can't do this anymore. Goodbye."

"What? Gwen…" he sits up. Kind of. Come on, make an effort, man. I pause in the bedroom doorway.

No? Lovely. I'm gone. As I close the door to his apartment behind me, I actually hear his snoring resume.

Asshole.

At least my vibrator satisfies me. And it has an 'off' switch.

_Two weeks later._

Gwen, you need to get laid, they said. Meaningless sex; you'll feel better, they said.

I hate clubbing. Gwaine dragged me out. Percival was on call so he had to stay home, and Gwaine was bored. That's dangerous for someone like Gwaine, and he decided I was his 'project' for the night.

I practically begged him to take me to one of his favorite gay bars. No luck. "Can't get you laid in one of those places, darling," he said.

I sighed and let him drag me to some trendy new club. The kind with the roped-off doorway and a huge bouncer holding a clipboard. Gwaine practically started salivating when he saw him. Probably because he looked remarkably like Percival. Gwaine likes them huge and muscle-y.

"Down, boy," I muttered. "I can't believe you talked me into this dress," I say, yanking the top up and the bottom down. It's deep burgundy, tight, strapless, and short. It belongs to his sister Morgana, who is every bit as ostentatious – and as gorgeous – as Gwaine.

"Well, I'm just hoping that someone talks you _out_ of it later."

We reach the front, and the bouncer makes no attempt to hide the fact that he is checking me out. I feel as though I'll have to retrieve his eyeballs from my cleavage before long.

"Come right in, sweetheart," he says, unclipping the rope from the pole. I grab Gwaine's arm and pull him with me.

"Thank you," I say.

"Thanks, sweetheart," Gwaine tells him. I yank his arm harder.

It's impossibly loud inside with lots of colored lights. People are drinking colorful drinks from glasses with flashing lights embedded inside.

Gwaine looks like a child on his first trip to Disney World. I sigh inwardly and resolve to make the best of it.

"Here, take my seat," a man seated at the bar stands, offering me his stool.

"Um, thanks," I say, grateful to be off my feet. These shoes are nearly as bad as the dress. How do people wear this stuff?

"Arthur," he says, offering me his hand. I take it.

"Guinevere," I say. Why did I introduce myself as Guinevere? "Gwen, actually."

"May I buy you a drink, Guinevere?" he asks. He hasn't let go of my hand.

I glance at Gwaine. He nods encouragingly. Arthur notices him then. "Oh, sorry mate, is she with you?"

"I'm the gay best friend," Gwaine introduces himself.

"Of course you are," Arthur nods. "What would you like to drink?"

"Cosmo," Gwaine announces.

"Gwaine, he was talking to me," I say. "I'd like a vodka lemonade, thank you."

Arthur smiles, orders both drinks, and… doesn't pay for them. I raise my eyebrow at him questioningly.

"This is kind of my club," he says, leaning in close to speak directly into my ear. I don't think he wants it advertised.

"It's very… loud. And flashy," I say.

"I know. It's what the kids today like, though, right?" He grins at me.

I didn't notice it was so warm in here till just now. I also didn't notice Gwaine disappearing into the crowd.

Arthur sticks around, standing close. Apparently he wants to chat. Okay. We chat. I nurse my drink. I'm not much of a drinker.

The deejay plays a slow song, and he drags me to the dance floor. He holds me close enough that I feel slightly lightheaded and wonder what kind of pheromone he has embedded in his cologne.

The deejay plays a fast song, and he drags me _from_ the dance floor. "I can't dance that way," he says, his lips brushing against my ear.

My seat at the bar has long been usurped, and he looks down at me, holding my hands in his. "Let's go someplace quiet. Well, more quiet than here."

"Oh, are you going to take me to some seedy back room so you can have your wicked way with me?" I ask, smirking at him.

"No, I'm going to take you to the diner on the corner and buy you pancakes," he says, grinning at me.

I laugh suddenly, surprised. He's really very sweet for someone so ridiculously handsome and wealthy. I've learned that he's both. "I need to tell Gwaine."

"He's over there," Arthur points. Gwaine has crashed a bachelorette party and is now wearing a tiara and drinking his drink through a straw with a little plastic penis for a tip.

"Oh, Lord…" I roll my eyes. "I'll send him a text."

Arthur takes my hand and leads me from the club.

"Can I get French toast instead?" I ask, and he laughs.

_Three hours later._

"Oh, God… oh… oh my… oh!" I am screaming in ecstasy for the third time now.

Damn. _Damn._ Lance who?

Arthur curls me into his embrace, gently sweeping my hair away from my face so he can kiss me.

"Goodness," is all I can manage.

"What's that?" he asks.

"Wow."

"Um, thank you?"

I smile. "No, thank _you._ That's… three more orgasms than my ex ever gave me."

"Oh, my God," he says, sitting up slightly. He actually looks a little horrified.

"Truth," I say, crossing my heart. He snatches my hand and kisses my fingers. "One of the top things on the list of Why I Broke Up With Him."

"Good. No excuse for that kind of behavior," he says, tutting like a disapproving nanny.

"What behavior?" I ask, baiting him a little.

"Not satisfying a beautiful, sexy woman like you. It's a shame and a waste. I mean right now, all I can think about is giving you another one just to hear you cry out my name like you did before."

Again: _Damn._

"Was he… small? Maybe secretly gay? Or just a douche?"

I'm laughing now. "Well, I don't know about the second option, but the third is a definite, and the first? I thought he was fine, but… you're definitely bigger." Shit, I'm blushing now.

"I'm bigger than most men," he says casually.

"And how do you know this?" I ask, raising my eyebrow suspiciously.

He lays back down and pulls me against him so my head is on his (unbelievable) chest. "Because I walk around with a tape measure in my pocket and ask random men if I can measure their junk." I start giggling, and he continues. "Sure, I've been arrested a few times, but it's a hobby."

I'm laughing now, burying my face in his shoulder. Suddenly I find myself on my back.

"You have got an incredibly sexy laugh, Guinevere," he rumbles down at me, capturing my swollen lips with his.

It will make you feel better, they said. Who would have imagined that they would be right?


	20. Excalibur

**Sex with Excalibur. Canon.**

She straddles him in their bed, easing up and down on his member, rocking slowly, languidly. Decadently. Savoring their time alone together in the solitude of their chambers before he has to ride off again.

Her eyes open, heavy-lidded with desire as they gaze at her husband beneath her, his own eyes blissfully closed, his mouth open, his breathing heavy. His hands slide up her thighs, up her stomach and caress her breasts, skimming his long fingers across her stiff nipples.

She sees his favorite sword, Excalibur, gleaming, freshly cleaned and polished, lying on the bed next to them where it landed when he tossed it there earlier, having entered their chambers just as she was exiting her bath.

The sword is tantalizingly close. She thinks she can reach it. She doesn't know why she wants it. But she reaches, closes her slender fingers around the handle, and pulls it to her.

He opens his eyes as he feels her slight weight shift in a different direction. _What is she doing?_

He watches, mesmerized, as she runs her hand along the blade, softly, taking care not to slice her palm. The blade moves and occasionally he sees glimpses of his reflection in the shining metal.

She strokes the blade as if it is another part of him. An extension of the part buried deep within her. Still she rocks atop him, stroking his shaft, stroking his sword.

She slides the flat of the blade down, running it along her arm, dragging it over her flat stomach, grazing the undersides of her breasts.

He does not worry that she will cut herself. He watches still, lifting his hips to meet her as she moves. He feels the cool metal glide across his stomach, his chest. He watches it as she very carefully slides it over her breasts, then between them.

She opens her mouth and whimpers, then licks the length of the blade with her small pink tongue.

His hands tighten on her hips and he comes then with a mighty groan, his fingers digging into her supple flesh.

The sword clatters to the floor a moment later and she collapses over him, whispering his name, her fingers in his hair.


	21. Felines and Flakes

**three cool cats**

The trio bound out into the snow, leaping, rolling, stepping delicately, tails twitching in the crisp winter air.

They scamper, burrowing into tunnels, tackling each other. The large yellow cat tackles the small brown cat and rolls with her, nuzzling his nose against her. The sleek black cat swats at the yellow cat's head. The brown cat nudges the black cat affectionately, then bounds away. The yellow cat gives chase, catching her beneath a young tree.

The black cat bumps the slender trunk with his head, and snow falls on the other two. Mostly on the yellow cat. The yellow cat leaps after his ebony friend, tackling him until the little brown minx distracts him again.

They find a small hill and slide down, half-sliding, half-rolling. The yellow cat chases a squirrel. The black cat finds a blown leaf leftover from autumn and swats it about. The brown cat finds a patch of grass, blown free of the snow, and settles in to watch her two companions, curling her tail around her sleek body, purring.

xXx

"Something wrong, Arthur?" Gwen asks him, peeling one eye open to see her husband sitting up in bed, a very perplexed look on his face.

"I had a really weird dream. We were cats."

"Cats?" she raises her eyebrows.

"Yeah. You, me, and Merlin. Cats. Playing in the snow."

"That's silly. Cats don't play in the snow."

"_That's_ the silly part to you?"

"Was I at least a cute cat?" she asks, grinning at him and snuggling close, pulling him back down.

"The cutest little brown cat. I couldn't keep my paws off of you." He wraps his arms around her now. "I will say this, though: That is definitely the last time I eat sushi after 9 p.m."


	22. Merlin the Magnificent

**handcuffs**

"Very funny. Now take them off."

"Okay, just let me grab the… shit."

"What? You're joking, right? Merlin, if I'm stuck handcuffed to you tonight, Guinevere is going to kill us both!"

"It was right here!" Merlin exclaims, standing and flinging sofa cushions one-handed, searching for the key.

"You're supposed to be an escape artist, Merlin, can't you get out of a handcuff?" Arthur asks sarcastically.

"Shut up and help me, Clotpole," Merlin snaps, yanking the hand that is tethered to Arthur.

"Ow!"

"Baby."

"Hey, unlike you, I'm not accustomed to the feel of cold steel around my wrists," Arthur says, dropping to his knees to look under the couch.

"So you and Gwen haven't ever…?"

Arthur glares at Merlin. "Not with handcuffs," he says levelly. "Silk scarves, neckties…"

"All right, I'm sorry I asked," Merlin interrupts. "Grab the other end of the couch."

"…a pair of her stockings once… oh, and then there was that time…"

"_OKAY,_ I don't need the details of your depraved sex life. Poor Gwen," he says.

"Poor Gwen? It's usually her idea!"

Merlin stops and stares. "No. Can't process that information. As far as I am concerned, _you_ are the degenerate."

Arthur laughs and turns to the coffee table now, shifting magazines and papers.

"Wait is that it?" Merlin says, moving suddenly, yanking Arthur with him. Arthur crashes into the coffee table, landing on top of it. The legs give way and Arthur finds himself atop a pile of splintered wood, bewildered.

"No. It's a key, but not the right one," Merlin says, setting it on an endtable. He looks at Arthur and helps him to his feet. "Freya's going to be pissed."

"Yeah, speaking of, next time you can practice your tricks with her. My career as your beautiful assistant has been both short and tragic, and _if you do not get this damn cuff off of my wrist very soon I am going to strangle you._"

"All right, all right, no need to get violent. Why is tonight so important, anyway?"

"It's our anniversary," Arthur says. "You should know that, Merlin, you were the best man."

"Is it the twelfth?" Merlin looks at his watch. "Oh, so it is. Happy anniversary."

"_Merlin._ Focus."

"Right. Key." Merlin's mobile phone starts ringing, and he digs into his jeans pocket. He pulls the phone out and the key drops to the floor, withdrawn from his pocket with the mobile.

"Oh, I put it in my pocket!" Merlin exclaims.

"_MERLIN!"_ Arthur roars just as Merlin answers his phone. Arthur bends to get the key, yanking Merlin down with him.

"Hi, Mum," Merlin answers his phone, casual as can be, while Arthur fumes. "Oh, nothing, just hanging around with Arthur, practicing a new trick…"


	23. Phobias

**The gang goes for a ride in a hot air balloon, modern or historic.**

"Merlin, you should see this view!" Gwen exclaims, tilting her face into the breeze, her long dark curls blowing away from her face.

"No. Not looking. Honestly, I don't know why I let you guys talk me into this," Merlin says from his position, huddled on the floor of the balloon basket, hugging his knees to his chest.

"Well, perhaps you should have told us you were afraid of heights before you agreed to step in," Arthur says, walking up behind Gwen and wrapping his arms around her waist. Her hair blows into his face, but he doesn't care. He just closes his eyes and enjoys the feel of it on his face, the

scent of it in his nose.

Gwaine plops down beside Merlin and slings his arm around his shoulders. "Yeah, mate what would Freya think if she saw you like this?"

Thankfully for Merlin, Freya was on a cruise ship somewhere in the Caribbean with her parents. On the surface of the planet. Where people _belong._

"Oh, she would cuddle up to him and console him and likely make him forget he was even suspended in midair," Leon says, grinning.

"You're such a girl's petticoat," Arthur scoffs. Gwen swats him on the arm. He captures her fingers and kisses them.

_Right,_ thinks Merlin. _He wants to go there, we can go there._ "So Arthur, did you ever tell Gwen about that time we went camping and I found this cave…"

"All right, let's stop picking on Merlin," Arthur says suddenly, interrupting him.

"Yes, and _start_ picking on Arthur!" Gwaine declares, gleefully rubbing his hands together. He leans his head down on Merlin's shoulder. "Tell me about the cave, Uncle Merlin."

"It seems our big, brave King Arthur there has a bit of a phobia of his own, that's all," Merlin says before Arthur can stop him.

"Merlin! You promised!"

"Hey, fair's fair, Dollop Head. Besides, _I_ at least got in the balloon. You walked two steps into the cave and bailed."

Gwaine and Leon laugh now. Gwen smiles at him indulgently, as is to be expected.

"It's just not right. I mean, who's to say that the thing won't collapse on our heads! Then we'd be trapped! Forever!"

"Arthur, it's all right," Gwen says, stroking his hand. "_I_ don't think any less of you, and who cares what _they_ think, right?"

"Thank you, Guinevere," he says, looking down his nose at the others. "To tell you the truth, this balloon basket is a bit small for my taste," he mutters.

"Shh," she shushes him, kissing him.

"People belong on the surface of the planet, not hovering above it in a basket suspended under an overgrown children's toy," Merlin grumbles.

"Yes. On the _surface_. Not below it," Arthur nods. "Or in very small closets," he mumbles.

"I mean, you complain that the cave could collapse. What's to stop a flock of very large birds to come along and peck bloody great holes in this balloon?"

"Thank you, Merlin."

"Nothing! And then we'd plummet like a stone and be nothing more than five greasy patches on the ground!"

"_Thank you, Merlin!"_

"Um… why don't we… head back…" Leon says, no longer looking out at the view.

"It's not so much the plummeting that worries me, it's the _landing,_" Merlin says quietly.


	24. The King's Whiskers

**Shave me**

"Shave me?" Arthur asks, looking up at Gwen with his big blue eyes. Big blue eyes perched above an increasingly-stubbly face.

"You trust me?" Gwen answers his question with one of his own.

"Of course. Plus, Merlin said no."

Arthur broke his right wrist in his latest escapade to right the wrongs of the kingdom, and his lack of activity as a result is making him restless and cranky.

"Now that I think about it, I don't think I'd trust him with something sharp near my throat anyway."

"Probably a good call. You've been especially beastly lately, my love, especially to him," Gwen says, lifting his razor and running it back and forth, back and forth, across the leather strop in an almost hypnotic fashion.

"Well, Gaius won't let me _do_ anything!" he whines, throwing his left hand in the air. "I told him I'd be fine to run training, that I can use a sword with my left hand as well as with my right. But no, 'you cannot risk someone else hitting it by accident, sire,'" Arthur says, mimicking Gaius' voice.

"He's right. If you do not let that heal properly, there may be permanent damage, and where would that leave you?"

"Hmph."

"And then if you were forced to stay here all the time, not allowed to go out and run around in the forest like you do, you'd drive the entire kingdom insane in less than a month," Gwen says calmly, mixing the soap.

"Even you?" he asks quietly.

She grabs a towel now and walks over to him. "Especially me." She sets the supplies on the table and helps him with his shirt, pulling it off over his head.

"I'm not being a beast to you, am I?" he asks, his voice very small now.

"No, but I'm probably the only one," she says. She puts the towel around his shoulders now. "The problem is I'm the one receiving all the complaints about your behavior."

"Complaints?"

"Yes, Love, complaints. Lift your chin, please." She takes the brush and starts slathering the shaving soap over his face, bending over him. "Eyes front, Pendragon," she chastises, smirking.

"Well, they're _right there._ And it's not like I don't know what's…"

"Arthur," she sighs.

"So who's complaining?" he asks, scowling.

"Oh, I'm not telling you that," she says. "Nice try. And stop scowling."

"Have you ever done this before?" Arthur asks when she lifts the razor in her hand.

Gwen looks at the razor, turning it so the blade glints in the sunlight. She shrugs. "How hard can it be?"

Then she gives him a sweet, innocent smile and brings the blade to his neck. She sees him close his eyes and hold his breath, apparently waiting for his throat to be slit, and she clamps her mouth shut to keep from giggling. _He doesn't need to know that I did this for my father when he burned his hand._

Arthur feels the blade touch and glide upward, skillfully and gracefully. He breathes again.

"You need to apologize to Merlin," she says. "Throwing that chamber pot wasn't very nice."

"It was empty," he defends himself in between sweeps of the razor.

"Small favors, then. You're still apologizing."

"Did he complain?"

"He's probably the only one who _hasn't_ complained, Arthur."

Arthur opens his eyes. "Really?"

Gwen leans down and kisses his newly-exposed lips. "Yes. There are two people in all of Camelot who truly understand you, you know. Merlin is one of them. You need to treat him better."

"Maybe."

"Arthur, is it wise to argue with a woman who has a very sharp blade in her hand?"

"You wouldn't!"

"Not _intentionally,_ no. But accidents happen when a person is agitated," Gwen answers, her voice almost too calm.

"Tell you what," Arthur says, his left hand snaking around her, coming to rest on her backside as she finishes shaving him. "He can have the rest of today off and tomorrow morning as well."

Gwen sets the razor down and wipes his face with the towel. She starts to turn away but he holds fast. "And I think you can cancel the council meeting this evening and order dinner in our chambers."

"You think so, hmm?" she asks.

He pulls her into his lap now, his hand running up and down her back, the right one resting on her leg. "Mmm-hmm," he nods, "I think we deserve some time to be alone."

She allows him to gently pull her lips to his, kissing her deeply but sweetly.

"I think if it'll improve your mood, the entire kingdom will leave us alone."


	25. Coming Out Party

**Uther and Gaius live together, have done for the last twenty years - so the gang just assumed they were ****_together_****, but it turns out they've just been friends this whole time. Merlin is shocked. Morgana is suspicious. Arthur's got his own problems. And Gwen tries very hard not to be amused at everything.**

"You'd think my father wouldn't be late to his own charity gala," Arthur mutters to Gwen, handing her a glass of champagne.

"Well, maybe something happened. They're getting older, you know. Especially Gaius. Did you try calling him?"

"No answer. Wait, here he comes… who's that?" Arthur's brow furrows. He glances across the room at his sister Morgana, whose expression mirrors his own. She is hanging on to a very surprised-looking Merlin.

Arthur grabs Gwen's hand and pulls her toward the entrance and his father, Gaius, and… a woman he's never seen before. Holding his father's hand.

"Dad?" he ventures. Gaius smiles at them and makes his way into the ball.

"Ah, Arthur, there you are. And Morgana, lovely, just the two people I want to see," Uther says, smiling. "Hello Merlin, Gwen, how are you both?"

Merlin and Gwen mutter their hellos, and Uther kisses both Morgana and Gwen on the cheek, declaring them both lovely.

"Dad?" Arthur repeats.

"Yes, I know, you are wondering about my date. This is Lorraine," he says, motioning to her.

"Hello," she says, holding her hand out to them. "I'm excited to meet all of you. Uther has told me so much about you."

Gwen jabs Arthur with her elbow and he shakes the woman's hand. "I… uh… wish I could say the same," he says, glancing pointedly at his father.

Morgana shakes the woman's hand next. "You're American?" she asks. She's recovered more quickly than her brother, but seems less friendly.

"Yes, sorry about that," Lorraine chuckles. "Just moved here for my job. Relocated, at my age, who would think it, right?"

"Well, welcome," Gwen says, deciding to be the friendly one since her idiot fiancé and future sister-in-law don't seem to be stepping up to the plate. "I'm…"

"Gwen, I'm guessing? And you must be Merlin?"

"Guilty on both counts," Merlin answers. "You'll have to forgive them," he says, nodding to Arthur and Morgana. "I think they're in shock."

"Sorry, children, I was… trying to wait for the right time," Uther says, smiling weakly. "Lorraine and I met a couple weeks ago, and…"

"What does Gaius think of all this?" Arthur asks suddenly, interrupting his father. Gaius has been like a second father to him, often there for him when Uther was unable to be there, and now it appears that he's being left in the lurch.

"What? Why, Gaius is very happy for us, why would you even ask such a thing?"

Arthur glances at Morgana.

_You say it._

_No, YOU say it. YOU brought it up._

_Fine._

"Aren't you and Gaius… um, er… together?"

Uther looks at Arthur blankly.

"I think they thought that you and Gaius were a gay couple, dear," Lorraine leans over and whispers loudly to Uther. To her credit, she looks _highly_ amused.

"Well, you live together, you spend all your time together… you certainly bicker like an old married couple…" Arthur tries, defending their apparently-incorrect opinion. Beside him, he hears Gwen stifle a chortle.

Uther snaps out of his stupor. "So do you and Merlin."


	26. Not in Kansas Anymore

**Modern AU – sort of -: four magic users who are history buffs decide to summon Arthur Pendragon, to determine once and for all if Gwen cheated on Arthur and was responsible for the downfall of Camelot. They summon him for a short period of time. Cue Arthur surprised that Gwen was rumored to be barren (when she gave him five sons – have him refer to her as 'fertile'), that she supposedly cheated with Lancelot (when Lancelot's type was Merlin) and that Camelot fell because of her (when her poise and grace helped it achieve its greatness). When he gets back to Camelot, he has quite the story to tell Gwen. I picture the ending paragraph as Gwen complaining that he compared her to soil – fertile- and he asks her if she's up for being 'plowed'**

"Wow, he's really cute."

"Shut up, Gwen!"

"Well, he is. Wait, I think he's waking up!"

King Arthur of Camelot blinks his eyes open. His head feels thick and fuzzy. He raises up slightly and stares, puzzled, into three unfamiliar faces.

The girl speaks first. She has brown hair and brown eyes. "Hello."

Then the first boy, who looks remarkably like the girl says, "Welcome to Kansas, Sire. Don't worry, you're perfectly safe and you'll be back in Camelot before you know it." He has an accent Arthur has never heard before.

The other boy has slightly darker skin and black hair and dark brown eyes. "How's your head?"

"Um…" is all that Arthur can manage. He looks around. It appears that he's in some sort of bedchamber, but apart from the actual bed (that he's laying on), very little looks familiar. "Kansas?"

"You won't know it," the first boy waves his hand. "I'm Artie. This is my twin sister Gwen."

"Hi."

"What?"

"We were named after you and your wife. This is our cousin, Francisco."

"Hola," Francisco waves, and Gwen shoots him a dirty look.

"Don't confuse him any further, Cisco!"

"That's an unusual name," Arthur says, trying to sit up further.

"My mother is Mexican," Francisco states plainly.

"What-i-can?"

"Another place you won't know, Sire. Don't worry about it," Artie says, shoving his cousin.

"How did I get here? Where's Guinevere?"

"Um, safe in Camelot. I guess. We only summoned you," Artie answers.

"Oh. I see," Arthur sits up fully now. Luckily his years of dealing with Merlin have trained him to never be _completely_ surprised about anything.

"You do?" Francisco asks.

"Yes. You summoned me. I understand that. My best friend is a wizard, you know," Arthur says. "Can I have something to drink?"

Gwen hands him a plastic cup with water in. "I thought you might be thirsty," she says.

Arthur studies the cup a moment. It is red with little white hearts all over it. He sniffs the contents.

"It's just water, I promise," she says. "Here." She takes the cup from his hand and takes a sip. "See? Good."

"Sorry," Arthur apologizes, and takes the cup back, downing the rest of the contents.

"Can we ask you some questions?" Artie asks. "It's kind of why we summoned you here."

"How old are you? You seem… young… to be sorcerers."

"Twelve. Francisco's thirteen," Gwen answers, watching as Arthur ponders the now-empty cup, squeezing it lightly in his hand, watching as it squishes slightly and springs back. "That's called plastic."

"Oh." He sets the cup down.

"And we're not sorcerers, exactly, though, Francisco's mom…" Artie starts, then hesitates.

"Tía Bruja," Gwen giggles.

"What does that mean?"

"It's Spanish for 'Auntie Witch,'" Francisco explains. "My mom's a little… special. I stole a couple of her books."

"I see. So you said you had questions. About?" Arthur answers.

"Camelot. We've been doing research, wanting to find out more about you. All these books," Artie waves his hand in the direction of a desk laden with books, "have different information. No one can agree on what the _truth_ is."

"It seems some things never change," Arthur mutters. "So those books there are all about me?"

"You, Queen Guinevere, Merlin, Camelot," Gwen answers. "And that's not even all. The internet is filled—"

"Gwen, he's not going to know what the internet is," Francisco rolls his eyes.

"It's like a magic place full of information," Gwen says. "Except it's not magic, and half the information is probably lies. Anyway. I want to know about Queen Guinevere."

"What would you like to know?" Arthur says, smiling as he thinks of his wife.

"Was she really unable to have children? 'Cause that's so sad if she was."

Arthur tries not to be shocked by the intimate nature of the question. This is obviously the future, somewhere, and probably things are very different now. "We have children," he says. "Four sons, actually, and one more on the way. Guinevere's hoping for a girl this time."

"Wow," she says. "That's a lot."

"Not really. Some other kings have more. But we're young still," he shrugs. "The queen is actually quite fertile," he chuckles. "I swear all I have to do is touch her hand, and—" he stops suddenly, his face flushing red for a moment, obviously forgetting that he's talking to children.

Gwen giggles nevertheless, and blushes in her own right. "Is she as beautiful as they say? With reddish-gold hair and alabaster skin?"

"What?" Arthur seems very confused by this.

Gwen picks up an item. It looks like a small tray, black on one side and silver on the other. She pokes it and the black side changes, an image appearing on its surface. She swipes her finger around on it, and Arthur leans in close, watching, amazed as the images keep changing.

"Sire, I can't see, your head's in the way," she says gently.

"Sorry. What magic is this?"

"It's called an iPad. And it's not magic, it's called _technology._"

"Eye pad?" he points to his eye. "It doesn't look padded."

Francisco chokes back his laughter, clamping his hands over his mouth.

"Here," Gwen says, glaring at her cousin. She shows Arthur an image, a painting of what Guinevere was supposed to have looked like. She sweeps her finger across the screen to another. And another.

"Oh, no, these are all wrong," Arthur says. "My Guinevere looks nothing like this at all. I mean, this woman is lovely, but that is not my wife."

"Really? That's like the _one_ thing that all the books seem to agree on. She was a strawberry blonde princess."

"She is a dark-skinned beauty with ebony curls, and she was a servant in the castle before she was my wife. A blacksmith's daughter."

"No!"

Arthur nods. "Best thing I ever did was marry her. Everyone called me a fool, told me that she was a witch who enchanted me into thinking I loved her. Trust me, she needed no magic."

"Did she cheat on you?" Artie asks.

"Cheat? I do not do battle with my wife…"

"He means did she, um… _dally_ with another man? Sir Lancelot."

Arthur laughs now. "_Lancelot?_ Oh, goodness, no. Lancelot is a fine knight and a good friend, but he and Guinevere would _never…_"

"What's so funny about that? It's in a lot of these books," Francisco points to the books again.

"Well, obviously someone felt the need to drag my wife's good name through the mud. Lancelot, well… he um, prefers the company of… men."

He is met with three wide-eyed stares.

"Well, specifically Merlin."

"_Shut. Up!_" Gwen exclaims, causing Arthur's brow to furrow again.

"Sorry. I don't mean shut up literally… it's just an expression…" she backpedals, recovering from her own shock. "It's like, 'I can't believe what you just said.'"

"So you're a happily married father of four and a half kids and Guinevere has been faithful the whole time," Artie muses. "So then if she didn't cheat on you, then I guess she won't be responsible for Camelot's downfall."

"I should hardly think so!" Arthur exclaims. "She's the reason we're prospering so! She's the wisest person in Camelot, and the people love her! _Everyone_ loves her! She is known far and wide for her wisdom, kindness, and grace. You need to summon up whoever it is that wrote these slanderous lies about my wife and set them straight!"

"Almost out of time…" Francisco mutters, looking at a small hourglass sitting nearby.

"Did you really pull a sword out of a stone?" Artie asks hurriedly.

"Yes, but that's probably all wrong, too," Arthur mutters. "You know, you children are lucky you caught me in a nap and not in the middle of a battle. I could have killed you all without even realizing it."

"Or at another inopportune time," Francisco mutters, remembering the look that was on Arthur's face when he was talking about his queen.

"What?" Artie asks.

"Nothing. Look, he's going back now," he points. Arthur is fading.

"Thank you, my lord," Artie says.

"Yes, thank you!" Gwen calls. She watches as King Arthur's hand reaches out and grabs the red plastic cup just before he fades completely away.

"Must have wanted a souvenir," she says, smiling.

xXx

"Arthur? Arthur, wake up!" Guinevere is shaking him, her face a mask of worry.

"Guinevere?" he asks, blinking awake again, his brain once again thick and fuzzy.

"Something was very strange. I've summoned Merlin, but… you were… _flickering._"

"Oh. Some young sorcerers summoned me into the future," he says, casually, rubbing his forehead. "Wanted to ask me questions."

"_What?_"

"Look," he holds up the cup. "It's called _plastic._"

"What is it?"

"A drinking vessel, obviously." He sets it down.

"So what happened?"

He tells her. Everything. About the children being named for them, the books, the eye-pad. She finds the fact that they got her physical appearance so completely wrong highly amusing.

She is less amused at his description of her as _fertile._

"Well, it's the truth. The only safe time to have marital relations with you is when you're _already_ with child, Guinevere," he smirks at her.

"You know, there is something that can be done about that," she threatens, arching an eyebrow at him.

"You wouldn't dare!" he exclaims, grabbing her by the waist now and pulling her over him, her swollen belly pressing into his stomach.

"Then do not speak of me as though I am some farm field," she says haughtily.

"Mmm, really? 'Cause at the moment I feel like doing some plowing…"


	27. The Proper Use of a Table

**A/G Cannon verse: they have just gotten married and Merlin keeps walking in on them without knocking, especially before things get steamy between them. They decide to teach him a lesson he will never forget.**

The first time it happened she was sitting in Arthur's lap at the long table. The king's face was in the queen's cleavage, and her head was thrown back. She was laughing.

Merlin had heard the laughter, but he assumed it was safe to enter. Surely people don't laugh while they're…

He was proved wrong.

The second time, he was treated to the sight of Guinevere's knees and shapely calves. She was seated on the table this time, Arthur standing between her spread knees, kissing her rather deeply, his one hand roaming up under her skirts.

People eat at that table. Merlin knows that the next time he sits at that table, he's going to be thinking of… that.

The third time was even more horrifying. He walked in to find Arthur seated at the table, alone. His eyes were closed and he was moaning, but his hands were in plain sight.

At first Merlin thought that the king had been poisoned.

"Arthur, are you all—"

_"MERLIN!"_

_Thump._

Then, from beneath the table: "Ow."

Merlin doesn't even remembering leaving that time. He'd never moved so fast in his life.

The final time, he opened the door to find the king lying on his back, chained to the table, wearing nearly nothing. Guinevere is standing over him, standing _on_ the table, wearing only her tall riding boots and one of Arthur's tunics. She has a riding crop from the stables in her hand.

She turns her head coolly towards the apoplectic Merlin and simply says, "You're next."

As Merlin bolts from the room, he hears Arthur's voice behind him.

"Well, that should teach him to knock."

Merlin closes the door and leans back against it, breathing heavily, pinching his eyes closed, trying to will the images from his mind. _Especially_ the ones involving the queen's supple brown thighs.

Faintly, on the other side of the door, Arthur speaks again.

"Are you going to finish what you started, or what?"


	28. Obscure References to the Past

**One Eyed Purple People Eater and People in Purple Tights {Wonder Twins Activate?!}**

"Who the hell are you two supposed to be?" Leon asks, letting them into his flat for the annual Halloween party.

"The Wonder Twins. You know, Zan and Jayna?" Gwen says, holding her hand out to show him her power ring.

"No idea," he mutters, walking into the party, away from them, gathering his Dracula cape around him so it doesn't catch on anything.

"You never watched _Superfriends_ as a kid?" Arthur yells after him. Leon dismisses him with a wave.

"Ooo, Gwen, you look hot," Gwaine sildes up to the pair, his eyes roving over Gwen's curves in her lavender leotard. "Or should I say Jayna?"

"Thank you, Gwaine, or… what are you, anyway?"

"I'm a breathalyzer test," he says. He's dressed in a large felt rectangle with colored circles on it intended to show the level of inebriation of the person who blows into the tube. Said tube is positioned just in front of his…

"Classy," she says. He winks at her.

"Arthur, you look like Gay Superman," he declares, laughing.

"I'm Zan, and I _told_ Guinevere that no one would get it," he grumbles.

"I know who you are. I still stand by my statement. And if you didn't want to wear it, why'd you agree?" Gwaine asks, but he already knows the answer.

"She pointed out that she'd never leave my side the entire night," he grins. "And besides, _look_ at her!"

"I am, trust me!"

"Okay, now _stop_ looking at her," Arthur glares. "Merlin here yet?"

"Not yet, but I am curious. He's been very mysterious about his costume."

"I know. Pain in the ass, that one," Arthur mutters.

"Oh, you know you both love him, shut up," Gwen says.

"He's not coming as Gleek, is he?" Gwaine wonders.

"We asked. He said no," Gwen laughs.

Five minutes later, the door opens again and in walks a tall figure, shrouded in purple.

"Looks like the Grimace from McDonald's had a baby with a flying unicorn," is Gwaine's assessment.

They can't make out who is in the costume, because his face is covered. The hood over his head has one large eye, white felt fangs, and a single horn made of stuffed gold material, leaning slightly, coming out of the top. Strapped to his back is a pair of massive purple fairy wings. His body is covered by a plush purple bathrobe and he is wearing purple fuzzy slippers.

"That's my bathrobe!" Gwen yells. "Merlin!"

"What the hell are you?" Arthur asks.

Merlin pulls his hood up slightly. "You guys don't know that song?"


	29. Best Seat in the House

**Uther makes Arthur attend the annual charity gala at the botanical gardens during the World Cup finals**

A cheer rises up from a table near the back of the arboretum. They are surrounded by tropical plants and flowers of every riotous color, but every occupant of this table has his eyes fixed on a four-inch screen in Arthur Pendragon's hands.

"Bloody smartphones," Uther grumbles, glaring back at them over his merlot.

"Well, you did schedule this event during the World Cup finals, Father," Mogana chides.

"I should send Guinevere over there to distract him," he says, thinking he's having a brilliant idea.

"Um, Dad, Gwen's in his lap, cheering with the rest of them."

"Oh. Bugger. Wait, in his _lap,_ you say? When did that happen? I mean, officially? I know he's been interested in her, but…"

"About five minutes ago. There was no more room at the table, and Arthur, ever the gentleman…"

Uther snorts.

"…managed to find her the best seat in the house," Morgana smirks.

"Indeed," Uther sighs.

"Give it up, Dad. He's here. He didn't pull the phone out until after the dinner and the speeches. Now it's just mingling and dessert. Besides, if you break it up now, everyone will think you're a massive tosser."

"Can't have that," Uther chuckles.

"Well, they'll think it more than they already do," she smirks at him.

"Obviously," Uther says, still chuckling. He takes a drink of his wine.

He saunters away from his daughter, heading casually back to the group at the back table. He is waylaid a few times by other attendees, and he approaches just as another cheer rise up. He even sees Gwen kiss Arthur on the cheek. He has to admit that they do look rather good together.

He moves closer, then stops. "Godwin, not you, too…"


	30. Queen of Hearts

**Superstar rock band Pendragon is on tour with manager Gwen**

Gwen looks up from her iPad where she is scrolling through emails, checking the tour schedule, to look briefly out of the bus window.

"The concert was over an hour ago," she mutters to herself, "what the heck is taking them so long?" She's just about to look back down when the door opens. Merlin comes out first followed by Gwaine and Leon, then finally Arthur and his bodyguard, Percy.

As they walk to the bus, a young woman runs up to Arthur, squealing with delight. Percy puts his hand to block her, but Arthur stops him. Gwen can see him telling his bodyguard that it's okay; let her pass.

Now she's really paying attention and her iPad screen goes black. She watches as Arthur embraces the strange woman, holding her tightly, affectionately, even letting her kiss his cheek. She's slender and beautiful, and Gwen scowls.

_I thought he was done with groupies_, she thinks, inexplicably feeling irritation rise within her. As the other guys board the bus, greeting her warmly, she stands, snaps the cover of her iPad closed, and announces, "I'm going to bed," and heads to her small room at the back of the bus.

A short time later she hears Arthur climb aboard. She can hear their voices through her door, but she can't really make out what they're saying and she decides she's fine with that. _Probably telling them all about the underwear model he just made out with in the parking lot._

"Guinevere." There is a light tap at her door.

"I'm sleeping. Go away," she calls out. However, there is no lock on the door, so it opens and Arthur slips quietly inside.

"Hey," he says to her back.

"Sleeping," she answers.

"No you're not, you're talking to me."

Gwen sighs. "What do you want, Arthur?"

"I just wanted to show you what my nephew drew for me," he says.

Gwen turns around. "Your nephew?" she asks.

"Yeah, I just saw my sister outside and she gave me this drawing." He holds the paper out for her and she takes it. It is a crayon drawing of a large dragon, breathing fire.

"Oh." Gwen feels foolish now. "That was your sister?"

"Well, yes," Arthur says, sitting beside her on the bed now. "You know I don't just hug random people. She lives here, and came to see the show. I would have had her hang around a bit and meet you all, but she had to go to work. She's a nurse. Works nights."

"Oh. Arthur, if you had told me earlier, we could have arranged to stay here longer. Then you could have seen your nephew. How old is he?"

"Seven. He's a good artist, hey?"

Gwen nods. She smiles, still feeling silly.

"Did you think…?" Arthur asks, finally making the connection. Gwen just looks at her fingers.

"Guinevere," he says softly, "you know I only have eyes for you." He curls his fingers under her chin, lifting her face towards his.

"I never thought you were serious when you said that," she whispers.

"Of course I was. How could you not know?"

"It's hard to tell with you sometimes. Sometimes I can't tell if you're being you or if you're being the Rock Star."

"With you, Guinevere, I'm always me." He brushes his fingers along her cheek. "You know I wrote that song for you, don't you?"

She looks up at him. "_Queen of Hearts_… or _Hellfire_?" she asks, smirking a little at him now.

"Well, _Hellfire_, obviously," he smiles back. Then his face turns serious again, his eyes soft and glowing. "You've been the queen of my heart for a long as I can recall," he whispers, moving his hand to cup her cheek now as he swoops down for a kiss.


	31. New and Improved Flavor

**Gwen has Arthur drinking pineapple juice on the days she plans to give him blowjobs. He develops a Pavlovian reaction to pineapple juice and he later realizes by reading an article that it's because it makes his spunk taste sweeter.**

Arthur pulls the can of pineapple juice out of his cooler bag. He stares at it, wondering why he suddenly feels… needful.

It's Friday, and Gwen packed his lunch today. She does that sometimes. Arthur lets her, never asking for her to do it. She has a job of her own; she doesn't need to be taking care of him all the time. Even though he likes it when she does.

Especially when she packs pineapple juice for him.

Though he can't quite figure out why. He pops open the can and takes a large swig. It's cool and refreshing, and he can feel it travel down his throat and into his stomach, down, coursing into his...

…the hell?

"Hey, Arthur, want some company?" Merlin pokes his head into Arthur's office, a brown bag and a plastic bottle of Coke in his hand.

"Sure, come on in," Arthur says, blinking out of his reverie.

"Something wrong?"

"Um, no, don't think so. Just thinking about something."

"Oh?" Merlin opens his bag and produces an egg salad sandwich and a bag of crisps. "What?"

"Pineapple juice," he says, lifting the can for Merlin to see. He actually has two cans, because they're small.

"Odd thing to have with lunch," Merlin says.

"Gwen packed it. She puts them in there sometimes. I think she's trying to make me eat healthier."

"Well, considering she gave you a pretty hefty slice of her homemade chicken pot pie, I don't think that's entirely likely," Merlin says, eyeing the leftovers in Arthur's plastic container enviously.

Arthur eats some of his lunch, then takes another sip of juice.

"You're blushing, Arthur. Why are you blushing? And are you going to share that pot pie or just sit there and watch me salivate?"

Arthur cuts off a chunk of pie, puts it on the lid to his container, and passes it to Merlin. "This juice is giving me… _thoughts._ And I have no idea why."

"Weird."

"Yeah, the last time she sent me pineapple juice was when… we… …and then there was the time… …and that other… …wait."

"Do I want to know?" Merlin asks.

"Probably not," Arthur says, setting his lunch aside while he turns to his computer. After a minute, he leans back in his chair. "I think I just solved the mystery."

"What?"

"You have to come over here, I am _not_ reading this aloud," Arthur says, pushing his chair back from his desk as Merlin walks around.

" , hey? Got a website for everything."

"Just read. There." Arthur points.

"'…Most kinds of pineapple juice will sweeten the taste of your…' Oh, my God, Arthur! I did _not_ want to know that about Gwen!" Merlin exclaims, looking in horror from the screen to the cans on Arthur's desk to Arthur.

"Got to give her points for creativity. And ingenuity," Arthur says, shoving Merlin back over to the other side of the desk.

Merlin stares at his sandwich. "And conditioning you like one of Pavlov's dogs," he says.

"Shut up, Merlin. Jealousy is an ugly emotion."

"What does it say on the can there, on the side?" Merlin angles his head, smirking.

"What? 'New and improved flavor.' Oh, Lord…"


	32. Sweet Transvestite

**Fishnet stockings ****(it only seemed appropriate and I'm all about appropriate as you know)**

Arthur surveys his reflection in the mirror. _Do I look good? Is this completely wrong and utterly insane?_

_Should I have shaved my legs?_

"Guinvere!"

Gwen comes rushing in, her hair teased huge, heavy makeup on her face, also clad in black lingerie. "Something wrong, Arthur?" she asks, leaning into the mirror, wiping a bit of lipstick from her front tooth.

"I feel like a twat."

"You look amazing, Arthur. You're prettier than me, actually," she laughs. "Here," she pushes him down onto the closed toilet lid and applies dark red lipstick to his lips. "Much better. I like the dark hair, too. It's like I'm cheating with my own boyfriend."

"I feel more like a glrlfriend," he grumbles, and she laughs.

"Merlin is going to laugh his ass off."

"Merlin wanted to wear this himself," she says. "But he opted instead for Riff-Raff. You have a much better body."

"Thanks, but that's not exactly saying much, is it?"

"Come on, Dr. Frank-N-Furter, let's go, we're going to be late," she pulls him from the bathroom.

"Why couldn't we go as Brad and Janet?" he whines. "I can really rock the tightie whiteys."

"Because Gwaine and Mithian are going as them. So we have to be the Doctor and Magenta, since I clearly have the hair for it. Now quit stalling and let's _go_."

"How do you walk in shoes like this?" he complains as she yanks him out the door.

"Practice. You are going to be the best Dr. Frank-N-Furter there, I know it."

"There's going to be _others?_ Oh, no…"


	33. Poking the Skunk

**Modern AU: Two months after their break-up, Arthur sees Gwen in a club in her freakum dress. Cue angsty words and actions, all leading up to sex in Arthur's private room. Cause nobody makes love in a club, right?**

Gwen sees Arthur watching her dance. She bends her knees and shakes her booty a little more and lifts her arms up over her head. She bumps into someone and opens her eyes. It's a handsome someone, so she smiles at him and drapes a hand over his shoulder.

He responds by putting his hand on her waist, and the two of them grind to the music. She maneuvers them so she can catch a glimpse of her ex's stormy but still infuriatingly handsome face, and sees fury behind his eyes.

Actual fury.

She wasn't exactly thrilled when Elana and Mithian had thrust the tiny silver dress at her, commanding, "Put this on, woman." But she's been living in sweats for the past two months (while not at work, anyway) and they made it very clear that they're sick of her attitude.

They dragged her out to this club, and of all the clubs in this stupid city, _Arthur_ was holding court at this one. She suspected he had a private room in the back, as he does. He says that he likes to have a little respite from the noise. Really it's just so he can flaunt his largesse.

So Gwen had thrown back a few drinks and hit the dance floor in these ridiculous heels, and since she's been out there, Arthur has been watching.

So Gwen has decided to give him a show. Remind him of what his jealousy cost him. Give him something to actually be jealous about.

As it turns out, the handsome someone with whom she is dancing is Mithian's boyfriend Gwaine. But Arthur doesn't know that. He's never seen Gwaine. Mith sent him out to poke the skunk a little bit.

"He's going to kill me," Gwaine says in her ear.

"No, he won't," Gwen says. Then she laughs as if Gwaine has just said something incredibly clever and/or flattering.

"You are going to get me killed," he says again.

"Shut up," she says, slapping his chest playfully.

"Some skinny black-haired bloke is dragging him back to his room," Gwaine tells her.

"That'll be Merlin. He's a darling."

"Oh?"

"Not _that_ way. He's straight. Just very sweet and genuinely a good guy."

"And he's Arthur's friend?"

Gwaine's only had Mithian's viewpoint on The Arthur Situation. So his opinion may be colored.

"All right, I need some water," Gwen says. "Show's over anyway."

Half an hour later, Gwen is coming out of the ladies' room, when she hears it. The voice.

"Guinevere."

She keeps walking.

"Guinevere, please."

She stops and spins on her heel. "What do you want, Arthur? Going to call me a whore for dancing with a strange man?"

"I never called you a whore," he says, and surprisingly, he's not shouting.

"Came pretty close to it."

He sighs. "I just wanted to tell you that you look really beautiful tonight."

"Thank you."

"And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. I should have taken you at your word."

"It took you two months to come to that realization?"

He steps closer. "Two days. After I sobered up."

Gwen doesn't say anything. She lets him walk closer. "Merlin misses you."

"I miss him."

"He says I'm a complete wank without you around."

"I'm sure he's correct."

Arthur snorts a small laugh.

"If it was only two days, why didn't you call?"

"Would you have answered?"

"Good point."

"Plus I was afraid. I'd seen you angry once. That's enough for me."

Guinevere closes her eyes now. _He is too close._ "Arthur," she sighs his name, her voice shaky, and she hates herself for it. She feels the familiar warmth of his hand as it touches hers, his long fingers wrapping around her hand, and her eyes open.

"Guinevere, I never told you before… I wanted to, so badly…" he trails off, his other hand closing around her free one. "And now I'm afraid I'm too late, but I want to tell you anyway…"

He is very close now. Gwen can feel the warmth radiating from his skin. He is always so warm.

"I love you, Guinevere," he whispers, dropping his forehead to rest against hers. "I've loved you for so long and I never was brave enough to say it."

"And then you threw it away," she says, feeling the tears rolling down her cheeks now. "You threw me away because of something you saw for which you didn't care to hear an explanation."

"I know. I'm a cabbage head. Ask Merlin, he'll tell you."

She laughs, just once, and closes her eyes again.

"Forgive me, please, Guinevere. I don't deserve it, but I need you with me. I'm completely useless without you."

"Ask Merlin, he'll tell me," she says. He lifts his head from hers and nods, wiping the tears from her cheeks with one hand.

"Please. I'll get down on my knees on this rather disgusting floor and beg if I have to," he says, starting to lower himself down.

_I should let him._ "Arthur," she grabs his hand. "Don't do that. We have a large enough audience already."

"Come," he says, taking her hand and leading her back to the room he has reserved.

He opens the doors and Merlin is in there, chatting with Leon and Random Girl.

"Out," Arthur says. The three get up and head for the doors. Leon says hello and Merlin gives Gwen's free hand a squeeze as he passes.

Arthur closes the door. Then he locks it.

"Arthur…"

He crosses to her immediately and proceeds to kneel in front of her now, taking her hands in his again. "Can you forgive me?"

"The man I was dancing with was Mithian's boyfriend," Gwen says, still not answering him.

"So you were just making me jealous?"

"Of course I was. You know I wouldn't dance with a strange man like that."

"You haven't answered my question," he says. "And my knees are starting to hurt."

"Stand up, Arthur," she says. He does, and she leads him to a chair and sits him down on it. Then, surprising them both, she sits in his lap. Straddling him.

"Oh," he grunts. "Mmm," he hums when her lips find his, and his hands automatically find their way around her, reacquainting themselves with her amazing body.

"I love you, too, Arthur," Gwen gasps, pulling her lips from his. "I never stopped loving you, that's why it hurts so much."

"Will you give me another chance?" he asks, his lips unable to resist her neck.

"Just one," she says, dropping her head back and grinding her hips into his.

"God, Guinevere, when you do that…" he groans, kissing his way to her breasts.

"I know," she says, her voice breathy. "That's why I did it."

He lifts his head and looks at her. She just bites her lower lip. His hands slide down and then up her thighs, under the hem of her dress, a hem that was already hitched up nearly to her hips.

Gwen stands and shimmies her thong panties down her legs, then tucks them in the front pocket of Arthur's jacket, like a pocket square. She opens his trousers and reaches inside, freeing his manhood, sliding her hand on his length.

"He missed you, too," Arthur says, pressing his hips upward, further into her hand. "He was very lonely without you."

"Good," Gwen says, then climbs back into Arthur's lap, sinking down onto him with a low moan.

"God…" Arthur exhales, his hands sliding on her thighs again, shoving her dress up so it is bunched around her waist. He caresses her backside with his palms as she moves up and down on him, her hands gripping his shoulders.

"I need one of these," he grunts, pulling at the top of her dress, sliding a strap down her shoulder, pushing down to free one of her breasts. His lips are drawn like a magnet and he bends his head, taking the nipple in his mouth.

Gwen gasps, her fingernails scratching his scalp. She moves faster, harder, driving them both to the brink.

"Ohhhh…." Gwen moans long and low as she climaxes over him, her whole body tightening around him. It drives Arthur over the edge with her and he tears his mouth from her breast.

"Guinevere…" he breathes, wrapping his arms tightly around her and they cling to each other, coming down, riding the wave together, forehead to forehead, savoring the closeness.

He kisses her sweetly. "I love you. I'm sorry."

"I know. I love you. Don't do it again."


	34. Glimpses

**Imagination**

He watches as she tends his father. His father, the king, his mind now gone. Feeble. Moments of clarity only.

He knows she has no love for Uther. He knows she tends the king for _him._ Because of her love for him, she will take gentle care of a man she despises.

A man she has every right to loathe.

As he watches from the doorway, unseen, the images before him shift, and he sees her not bending over his father, adjusting the pillow behind his back, but bending over a cradle, tucking in a babe, singing softly.

A strong son, an heir to the throne. A stout lad with his father's adventurous nature and his mother's level-headed wisdom. How he would tutor the boy in ways of combat and strategy. His mother would teach him diplomacy and kindness. The ideal future king.

Or perhaps a darling baby girl with her eyes and curls and pouting lips, another soul to ensnare his heart. He would do her every bidding, if he had a daughter. He knows this. She would wind him around her little finger and he would be her puppet. Her mother would have to be the one to say no. There's no way he could do it.

"Horsey, Daddy!" He imagines a tiny squeal, and he drops down to all fours, caring nothing for the hard stone beneath his knees.

He imagines the day that his son, perhaps aged 16 or 17, defeats him on the training field. How proud he would be.

He would train his daughter to fight, too. She would be gentle and wise but know how to wield a sword.

Of course, perhaps he would have to pass that task on to someone else. He didn't think he would have the heart for it.

"Arthur?" Her soft voice harkens him back to the present. He looks over to see his father snoozing comfortably.

"Hi," he says, smiling at her.

"Are you all right? You looked a little far away there." Her hand touches his face, a ghost of a touch. She glances over her shoulder to make certain that the king is still asleep.

He closes his hand around her fingers before she can withdraw. "I'm fine. I was just watching you. And thinking." He kisses her fingers, each one in turn, as he talks.

She blushes slightly, pulling them out of sight of his father, should he wake. "Do I need to ask what about?" she asks softly.

"You might be surprised, my love."


	35. Say My Name

**One night stand**

Gwen doesn't know exactly how she got home or why she invited this handsome stranger back home with her.

_Probably the choco-tinis._

But he _is_ really handsome. And he was only _too_ willing to "make sure she got home okay."

_Oh, right, that was it._

They tumble into her apartment once she finally got that whole lock/key thing figured out, and she shuts the door behind them and locks it. She turns around and grins wickedly at him.

"Now you're trapped."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he answers, and then he pounces, pressing her against the door and kissing her, his hands cupping her face, holding her in place as he plunders her mouth.

"You taste like chocolate," he gasps, tearing his lips away.

"Choco-tinis," she answers, sliding her hands around to grasp his firm backside.

"Mmm." He licks his lips. "Do you have a bedroom or should I just fuck you against this door?" he asks, his voice a low, seductive growl.

"Yes, I do, but yes, you should," she answers, sliding her hands back around and grabbing him through his jeans, squeezing once before opening his fly.

"Good answer," he says, pulling at the short sundress she's wearing. Gwen releases his jeans to lift her hands over her head so he can pull off over her head.

"Good God, those are magnificent," Arthur says, openly staring at the breasts now bared to him. He takes one in his hand and the other in his mouth, worshipping them immediately while she resumes removing his jeans.

"What was your name again?" he lifts his head and asks, kissing her lips now.

"Gwen," she gasps.

"No. It was Guinevere," he says, yanking his t-shirt off now and throwing it over his shoulder. He also kicks off his shoes, steps out of his jeans and pulls his boxer briefs off. He slides his hands down her torso, gazing at her body again. "Oh. Wait." He bends and quickly removes his socks.

"That's not sexy at all," he declares, and she giggles. "These, however," he runs his fingertip along the waistband of her little boyleg panties, purple with small lime green polka dots, "are _quite_ sexy. I like these a lot. I'd like them more if they were off, though." He slides his hands inside, pushing them down, skimming his palms down her hips and her legs. He pauses to kiss her stomach while she steps out of her underwear.

Instead of throwing them aside, he lifts them to his face and smells them, inhaling deeply and exhaling with a groan.

"You are a dirty boy, Arthur," she purrs at him, and he grins like the devil himself.

"You know it," he says, tossing her panties over his shoulder now. Then he presses her into the door again. "Actually I'm very clean," he says, nibbling her ear now, his hands threading through her hair. "'Cause you probably want to know."

"Oh… right…" she gasps, amazed at his capacity to be so perverted one second and thoughtful the next. "I'm clean, too. And I'm on the pill—oh!"

He lifts her into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist before she even finishes her sentence. "Good. Because I want to feel every inch of you, Guinevere."

Gwen's eyes flutter closed. _The way he says my name is positively sinful._ "Say my name again," she moans, her arms around his neck, her fingers up in his hair as he places wet sucking kisses on her neck.

"Guinevere," he breathes it next to her ear, then licks the outer shell of her ear. He feels her shudder in his arms.

He also feels one of her hands snake down between them, reaching for him. Her strong, slender fingers wrap around him, squeezing, sliding, drawing a grunt from his lips.

"Ooo," she purrs, "you're a _big_ boy, too."

He chuckles smugly then, apparently pleased she noticed, and he lifts her slightly so she can move him into place. She does, and he pulls her back down onto him, sheathing himself within her slick, hot center.

"Oh…" he groans. "Guinevere," he repeats her name as he pulls back and drives back in again, pinning her to the door, bracing her shoulders against the wood for leverage as he plants his feet and _moves._

"Oh… ohmy… ohno… oh, _yes…_" Gwen is gasping, clinging to him, taking all he can give her, riding him as he grips her hips, his fingers digging in, just this side of being painful.

_I'm going to have his handprints on my ass._ The thought drifts through her brain unbidden.

"Touch yourself for me, Guinevere," he says. Commands.

Mindless, Gwen's right hand drifts down to rub small circles. Arthur, amazingly, leans back slightly to give her better access to herself. She also sees him watching her hand, his eyes dark and filled with lust.

"Mmm… oh…" she moans, biting her lower lip.

"Oh, Guinevere… yes… screw the neighbors, let it out…" he groans through gritted teeth.

"Oh…" she cries out, louder now, releasing any remaining inhibitions. "Oh, _fuck_… oh God, Arthur!" Gwen is shouting now, her hand jerking away from herself as she comes, her body clenching and pulsating around him. Her head falls back against the door, her kiss-swollen lips parted.

Arthur thrusts a couple more times, then, "Ah… oh sh… Guinevere…" he comes now, hot and fierce, pressing his face into her neck.

"Wow," she exhales, wrapping her arms around his shoulders now. Arthur doesn't say anything yet, but she feels his head turn slightly to kiss the side of her neck a few times. His tongue slips out against her skin and she whimpers.

He eases out of her and sets her on wobbly legs. Then he bends and kisses her lips again, sweetly. "Where next?" he asks, his expression clearly stating that he's not done with her yet.

Gwen also realizes that she is now completely sober and even though that was the most amazingly mind-blowing sex she's ever had, she definitely wants more.

"Hmmm…"

Two weeks later.

"She hasn't called?" Merlin asks Arthur as they sit at a table in the crowded coffee shop.

"No. I left a note explaining why I couldn't stay, told her I was definitely interested – _definitely_ – and also left my number. Nothing," he says. "I should have gotten her number. I didn't think of it till I was halfway home. Her phone was _right_ there. All I would have had to do is pick it up and call my phone and I would have had her number. Stupid."

"Yes, who would think that the brilliant surgeon was an idiot?" Merlin smirk. "Oh, wait: _me._"

"Shut up, Merlin. Can't you see I'm trying to mope over here?"

"_Order for Guinevere. Guinevere, your order is ready."_

Arthur stands up so fast that he spills his coffee.

"Gah!" Merlin stands, hot coffee hitting his knee. "What the hell?"

"Shh. That was her name. Guinevere. That might be her…"

"I burned my knee."

"You're a doctor. Fix it," Arthur says, craning his neck in the direction of the counter, looking for her, for her dark curls. "Oh, my God…"

"_Go,_ idiot." Merlin pushes him. His feet start moving.

She's right in front of him, facing away. _It's her. It's really her. What do I do? What do I say? Oh. I know._ "Guinevere."

She gasps and turns, eyes wide. "Arthur! Oh my God, Arthur! I'm so sorry! I… I spilled tea on your note and it got all smudged and when I tried to wipe it clean I just ended up destroying it so I didn't have your number and I _swear_ I would have called you but I couldn't find you and I don't know your last name or anything and—"

He stops her lips with his own, the only way he can, his hands cupping her face.

**A/N: You know I couldn't just LEAVE it a one-night stand...**


	36. I Remember You

**Arthur gets reincarnated/ressurected/ dosen't die; him and Gwen make up for lost time (hint smut!)**

She first sees him at the beach one summer. Sure, he's handsome; obviously he is, given the appreciative looks he's getting from both women and men.

But then, he's always been handsome to the point of near-perfection. Especially to her. To her, he looks like he was made of shining gold. His shining golden hair, his skin, pale but kissed golden by the sun.

There is something that draws her to him, a familiar quality that she can't shake. It's like she knows him from somewhere. _Don't be foolish,_ she tells herself, _if you had met him before, you would certainly remember._

Nevertheless, she resolves to return to the beach the next day just in case he's there.

Fate was kind that weekend, and she grew bolder, brave enough to walk pointedly past him in her deep red bikini and sheer lavender beach wrap, tied around her waist like a flowing wraparound skirt.

He's talking to another woman, but he sees her. Her presence calls to him like a beacon, and it makes his skin tingle. She sweeps past him, and as the breeze blows from the ocean, her scent reaches his nose and he forgets what he is saying in mid-sentence.

In a city where everyone seems to smell like coconut, she smells like lavender. "Excuse me," he says, undoubtedly irking the girl to whom he is talking, and he abandons her, following his lavender-scented goddess as though he is in her thrall.

He follows her at short distance like a lost puppy that has just found his mistress. As he walks behind her, he can't help the feeling that he knows every inch of her body as well as he knows his own, perhaps better. Every angle is familiar, every curve begs for his fingers as her flawless cinnamon skin shines in the sunlight.

_She appears a shade darker then I remember. Probably from the warm sunshine here,_ he finds himself thinking. _But why would I know that? This is the first time I've seen her._

_Isn't it?_

She stops in front of a food truck, on that sells high-end frozen treats. Fancy popsicles. She studies the menu and he studies her.

His feet a move without telling him first, and he is suddenly standing beside her.

"Can I buy you and ice pop?" he asks, immediately deciding that that was the worst pick-up line ever.

Luckliy, she turns her head and smiles at him. "Is it wise to accept gifts from strange men?" she asks.

"Well, in that case, I'm Arthur." He offers his hand.

"Gwen," she says, and when her hand touches his, she sees a brief flash: a vision, of the man before her clad in chainmail and a flowing red cape, a magnificent sword in his hand.

She gasps quietly, and his eyes tell her that he's seen something as well.

_It's her, in a deep burgundy gown, beautiful and regal, her hair flowing down her back, a gold circlet adorning her smooth forehead._

"Um, what would you like? I mean, what flavor? Ice pop…"

"Mango mandarin," she decides. He gets strawberry kiwi.

"Here you are, Guinevere," he says, handing her her popsicle.

Her eyes fly to his. "How did you know my name is Guinevere?" she asks. "I only introduced myself as Gwen."

"I… I don't know…" he says, looking equally puzzled.

He watches as she brings the yellow-orange popsicle to her lips, sucking the rapidly-melting treat.

_I definitely know those lips._

They find a picnic table and sit. And eat. And talk. The more they talk, the stranger it gets. The stranger it gets, the closer they sit to each other. Like two magnets, unable to pull away.

"Why do I feel like I know you?" he says suddenly.

"I don't know… I feel the same way. Like it would be the most natural thing in the world to just reach out and… touch your cheek…" she raises her hand hesitantly. "Like this."

He closes his eyes at the touch of her hand on his skin. He sees flashing in his mind's eye a hundred other times where she's touched his face like this.

His eyes open and her face is a mirror of his expression. "Did you see it, too?" he whispers.

She nods, lifting her hand from his cheek like it has burned her, and her hand hovers in the air next to his face.

"I want to try… _have_ to try something," he says, then with no further warning, leans forward and kisses her.

_The first kiss, in her small house._

_Lancelot, leaving, and her tears._

_Vivian. Breaking the enchantment._

_"I cannot be your queen."_

_"I thought I'd lost you."_

_"It's what you do when you love someone."_

_The picnic. The wasp._

_"When I am king, things will be different."_

_The kiss in the abandoned castle. The kiss in the courtyard, in front of everyone._

_"That's the memory I want to take with me."_

_The sad little purple flowers._

_"Even if they're not… appropriate?"_

_"I'd know it anywhere." The hug._

_"Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"_

_Lancelot. The betrayal._

_"I've missed you." "And I, you."_

_"I never once stopped loving you. Never once."_

_"I just don't ever want to lose you."_

_"Long live the queen!"_

_Uther's ghost._

_The dark tower._

_"With all my heart… with all my heart…"_

_Camlann, the tent._

The images flash through their minds as their lips and tongues reacquaint themselves with each other, soft and warm and wet, his arms molding her body to his, paying no heed to the collection of onlookers that has gathered.

They finally break apart, Gwen pulling her lips from his after seeing them in the tent in Camlann, knowing what comes next, not willing to face that pain again.

"Arthur…"

"Guinevere… my Guinevere… my love…"

xXx

"If you had worn something like this in Camelot you would have been jailed for public indecency," Arthur comments, running his finger along the edge of her bikini top, following the string from her neck down to the side of her breast.

"Good thing this is Miami, then. I can go to Wal-mart like this and feel overdressed," she giggles, kicking her flip-flops off inside his penthouse condo overlooking the ocean. After that kiss and the ensuing applause, they made a hasty departure, back to his place with one thing in mind.

Arthur scoops her into his arms before the second sandal hits the floor, his hungry lips searching for hers again, intent on finishing what they started at the beach.

He sets her gently on the bed, his fingers going to untie her wrap. He pulls it off and out from under her.

Then he shucks his trunks and crawls over her, kissing her stomach, her chest, her neck, as he works his way back to her lips.

"I missed you so much," he says.

"Not half as much as I missed you. I still had to… live after you died, you know. Take this bikini off of me, Arthur…"

"Sorry about that…" he mutters against her skin, relishing the texture, the taste. _It's like coming home._

"Sorry for dying or for the bikini?" she asks, sitting up to untie the back of her top.

"Both," he says, pulling impatiently on her bottoms. "But mostly for dying." And with that, he lowers his head between her thighs, kissing his way up until his tongue darts out, flicking against her wet core.

"Oh…" she writhes on his bed, her knees falling wide for him.

"Mmm," he hums into her, his tongue circling, lapping her up, driving her wild. "You taste so good… just like I remember."

"No talking," she gasps, her hands squeezing her breasts, pinching her nipples as he laves her. He slides a finger inside and she moans, her back arching off the bed.

Arthur suckles at her swollen nub, his finger easing in and out, in and out until her breathing comes in heavy rasps and her head tosses on the pillow.

"God… Arthur!" she cries out, climaxing around his finger, shoving at his head with her hands. "Too much..." she whimpers.

"Just getting started," he says, his voice a delicious promise.

As soon as she can reach him, she does, taking his swollen member in her hand, remembering its shape, its size, how it seemed to respond to her every touch, every word.

"Oh, Guinevere," he groans, taking her lips with his again, delving his tongue into her mouth and she meets him, tasting herself on him, thrusting back with her own tongue as she strokes him with her hand.

She brings him to her entrance, sliding the tip along her folds once or twice before positioning him where he belongs.

He pauses. "Are you protected?"

"Do we care?" she counters.

"Not really," he says, sliding slowly in, then, to his surprise, he meets a barrier. "Guinevere?"

"Yes, that's… that's what you think it is. _Go,_ Arthur… I've been waiting for you…" she gasps, pulling at his shoulders.

Eyes full of wonder, he pushes forward, kissing away her brief cry as he breaks through, then stilling, waiting for her to adjust, for the pain to subside.

"I can't believe that you…"

"Shh… I told you already…"

"But you didn't know…"

"Part of me must have. Oh…" she sighs as he begins moving.

"Okay?"

"Oh, yes, Arthur."

He moves swiftly but smoothly, closing his eyes as images from their past life together flash through his mind again. Images of the two of them together. Erotic, stirring images that make his heart swell and his loins ache.

"God…" he groans, opening his eyes.

"I know…" she answers, "it's like… homemade medieval porn…"

Arthur laughs. "OhmyGod…" he's panting and laughing and groaning all at once, quickly approaching his release.

Her breathing speeds up again, her body writhes, practically quivering beneath him, and he knows that she is close. He bends and takes an erect nipple into his mouth, sucking it, swirling his tongue around it, biting lightly.

Everything he knows she likes. Everything he knows she craves from him. Only from him.

"Oh… oh yes… Arth… oh…" she plunges her fingers into his hair, grabbing and pulling as she climaxes again, crying out his name once more.

Arthur follows immediately, thrusting deep and stilling within her, growling deliciously as he does so. He collapses over her and immediately rolls them so she is lying on his chest.

"I love you," he tells her, kissing her lips again.

"I love you, Arthur," she answers, brushing his hair from his forehead.

"Marry me," he says.

"Okay," she answers.

"Tomorrow."

"Arthur, tomorrow's Monday. I have to work, and I assume that you do as well."

"Always so practical, my Guinevere." He kisses her again, longer this time. "Call in sick. Call in sick and we'll get married. I have to marry you now that I've taken your virtue. It's the right thing to do."

Gwen rolls her eyes. "How very archaic of you."

"Tomorrow."

"Still thinks he's king," she says to the wall over his head. "Okay. Tomorrow."

"Good."

xXx

"That judge looked strangely familiar," Gwen says as they leave the courthouse the next day.

"A bit, yeah. Pretty young, too, I thought. What was his name again?"

Gwen looks at the papers in her hand. "Oh, shit…" she starts laughing.

"What? What is it?"

She shows him the paper. _Judge Merlin Emrys._

They turn and run back into the courthouse.


End file.
